


Strawberries & Cigarettes

by notsugarandspice



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Love, Friendship/Love, M/M, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, POV Alternating, Pastel Eddie Kaspbrak, Punk Richie Tozier, Romantic Fluff, Sexual Content, Strawberry Farm, Summer Romance, that Troye Sivan song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-04-05 09:57:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14041737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsugarandspice/pseuds/notsugarandspice
Summary: Blue eyes, black jeansLighters and candy, I've been a foolBut strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you





	1. Strawberries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember when we first met?  
> You said "light my cigarette"  
> So I lied to my mom and dad  
> I jumped the fence and I ran

The sunshine is warm and comforting, and the day is productive, nice, just like most days are recently. The ground is as dry as it needs to be and there are no weeds in sight - everything is blooming. I like how soft the leaves are, I always have. June belongs to me. It’s my month. It’s the only time of the year when I can be of any help here. Mom and dad are too busy with their own fruit, amongst other things, but strawberries have always been mine to take care of. They are dad’s favorites. I feel the ground through my fingers, it’s pleasantly spilling back down, just the right amount of sand, clay, and silt. I can’t help but smile - this is where I belong.

I take the fiskars out of my favorite fanny pack - the orange one dad gave me when I turned ten, and he thought I was old enough to have my own plants. I wasn’t. But I observed until my own stopped dying, the bag always around my hips. I need to bring dad his bowl - it makes it better, a little more bearable. I cut the stem right above the berries, careful not to damage. There is a bit of dirt on them from my hands, but I think it somehow makes it _authentic._  They don’t look like the ones they sell at Sammy’s - perfect, the color almost dark pink. They should be red, a pretty dark red, a color of cold-bitten lips in the middle of January.

I make my way back to the house, a bowl of heart-shaped berries almost falling out from abundance. The sunlight doesn’t burn anymore - it’s warming my skin and making the plants rise, blossoming, feeding. I open the back door, and it slams in return, thrown back by the mild wind. I can hear mom and dad talking in the kitchen but it’s a strained conversation, I can tell. They’re trying to keep their voices down. _As if I don’t know._

“Frank, honey, please be honest with me. How nauseous are you?”

“I’m fine, you know that. It’s not worse than usual. I’m alright.”       

“Dad?” I say if only to announce my presence.

“Edward, come in. How is it?” Dad's smile is warm and honest. Strained but loving.

“Everything’s great, dad. Look at these. They’re the size of my palm!” I reach one strawberry out, plump and red, a small green stem sticking out from the dent.

“Sonny, look at this! I could never grow them like that. There are amazing, really great, son.” Dad looks proud, his eyes teary. _I want you to always look like this. Smiling. Happy._

“I’ll cut some for you.” I unclasp the fanny pack and put it on the back of an empty kitchen chair. Mom looks sadder than I’ve seen her in a long time, even though she tries to smile at me as I kiss her forehead. _It will get better, I know it will._

I take out the cutting board and a new bowl, washing each berry carefully, and rip out the stem in the slowest manner possible. _They’re so gentle._ I cut straight down the middle, each half still bigger than the supermarket ones. With pride that could burst my chest open, I place the bowl in front of dad and go back to clean the mess I’ve made. It’s going to be a great summer. I can tell. 

I decide to take a walk if only to avoid having to nap the rest of the day. Living on a farm has its perks: my friends always have a place to hang out, I spend most of the time outside, _yada yada yada_. But I used to have to ride my bike to school for almost ten miles, and let me tell you, it is _not_ the most satisfactory thing in the world when it’s not the beginning of June. On especially cold days, I used to pretend to have a cold just to avoid sitting on the iced leather seat. I’d give anything to go to that school again.

College scares me. I think it scares most people. My grades are great, and I got into a good school, but I couldn’t help but think… _do I need to go?_ I’m happy here, with mom and dad. The farm has been doing great. At least three towns are using our berries now, and the strawberries have been the most popular. I don’t want to leave. This is where I belong.

I’d call Mike, but I know he is busy. His dad has been forcing him to work harder than usual now that his gap year is over. He decided to go to the closest University to home but not anywhere known, just a community college. Even though he could probably get into an Ivy. I understand him. Why would you leave and spend thousands of dollars to study the same stuff you were taught in high school? But mom and dad have been insisting the whole senior year. Dad, especially, told me I need to go and _live._ What does that even mean? Am I _not_ living now?

Tired of walking, I spread my arms and legs on the grass close to the strawberry hills, under a large beech tree. Our farm is the only one that has it - it’s too large to fit on any other. Everyone wants it, and we get a lot of people jumping the fence and lying under it. But it’s my spot, and I guard it daily. 

I observe the cows on the neighboring farm. They’ve been especially agitated today which is unusual. Chris usually keeps them calm, nurtures them and stays outside the whole day. He’s spent all day in the house, and it’s already one in the afternoon. I see some trucks in the distance, but it’s probably delivery. _I hope his animals are okay_.

I should’ve taken a book with me. _Damn it._  Not that there’s anything wrong with staring at the sky dreamily. That’s what I do most days anyway. But it’s infinitely more pleasant when there isn’t a destructive ball of orange gas burning through your retina. I flip on my stomach, taking in the smell of fruit and some purple flowers growing in the distance. There’s a mild scent of compost, but it’s all… _home._ I wouldn’t have it any other way. My overalls are tight, and I shuffle to get comfortable, putting one leg to the side, pretending to hug the earth I lie on. It’s nice and soft, and I c-

  

 

an feel a rough hand on my shoulder, nudging almost painfully. I turn around too fast, and my head feels light in an unpleasant way. _What century is this?_ My eyes are finding it next to impossible to adjust. It’s dark. _Shit, it_ _’_ _s dark._ There is a semblance of a full moon sitting mid-sky which means that it’s not too late yet. _So much for trying not to nap too much._ I recover to a sitting position, and I’m about to accost Mike for waking me up so rudely when I suddenly can’t get the words out. 

The man is certainly not Mike - what with the skinny legs and black jeans. They might even be dark blue but it’s almost pitch black, the only light is the moonshine above the branches. My eyes fall on the black worn Converse, and maybe that’s more of an indication that this is a stranger. I look up to the face, and it must take me forever because the stranger is taller than anyone I know. Maybe taller than Mike. I can’t see anything besides the dark halo around his head which I can assume to be either a horrible hat or overgrown hair. I clear my throat to speak.

“Can I help you?”

There is a moment of silence before the man crouches down right in front of me, bouncing on the tiptoes of his feet, hands on the thighs to keep balance. “Light my cigarette?” He's playing with one between his index and middle finger. 

The voice is younger than I expected but it’s raspy nonetheless. I’m suddenly very aware of the tobacco smell radiating from a man, and I want to be sickened, but the feeling never comes. Instead, I lean a little more forward, curiosity blossoming in my chest.  

“I don’t have a lighter.” I try to be nonchalant, but I know it’s entirely out of character for someone like me.      

“You have one at home, cutie?” I can feel my face burn up. Hard for it not to when no one speaks to me that way. 

“Why would I let a complete fucking stranger into my house?” I can’t read his expressions, and it’s driving me crazy.

“If you wanted to run away, you would’ve by now.” I think he smiles, but I can’t really see.

“I might still.” I want to sound intimidated just to get him off my shoulder, but it comes off threatening instead.

“Is this the lion and the lamb scenario?”

“I’d be a gazelle. I’m a fast runner.”

“No kidding. Anything else I should know?” He’s fidgeting with something in his pocket, but I can’t tell what it is. 

I should be terrified or something, my heart should be beating out of my chest in fear. There’s a complete lunatic crouching down in front of me, all flirtatious and mysterious. This is the most typical beginning of a murder case on CNN. Instead, my heart is thudding in excitement, and all I want is for a bit of light to look into the man’s face.

“Are you always this forward when talking to complete strangers?”

“Only as cute as you, angel.” _Angel._  

“Right. Well, if you’re gonna murder me, you might as well get it over with. I might be fast, but the roots of this tree go around good three feet, so I’ll stumble, and you catch me anyway.” _Word vomit much?_      

“Aha,” said the man and sat down right next to me, locking his knees by wrapping his arms around them. “Are you always asking for people to murder you on the spot, or am I just privileged?”

I can see the outline of his profile now. He definitely has sharp cheekbones, and his nose sticks out prominently. His hair (not a hat) is thicker than I thought, and it wraps around his head like an ominous shadow. The small bits of moonlight are peeking through the branches, and the moon's reflection is in the stranger’s eye, but I can’t discern the color.

“I’m not depressed or anything, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I’m not implying anything, sweets. You just don’t seem cheerful, is all. Hella cute though.” I can feel my whole body burn scarlet.

“Will you stop?”

“What?”

“Flirting. You don’t even know me. I don’t know _you_ at all.”

“See, you being all snarky and emotionally unavailable kinda sorta makes you the most desirable thing on the planet.” I can’t see his smirk, but I can _hear_ it. _Ugh._

“I’m not a thing!”

“Okay, angel. You’re an otherworldly creature. Lying on the grass under the moonlight. It’s like a teen fantasy book spit you out.” _Angel._

“Are you the undercover vampire in that scenario? You’re going to drain me and leave me here to bleed, then come back and feed me your blood to recover, all guilty and romantic?”

He laughs. Of course, the sound of his laugh makes me want to jump into his arms. _Good fucking job keeping your teenage hormones in check, Eddie._

“I’m more of a werewolf, but you should write that novel.”

“Oh, it’s been done too many times before. That’s why it’s a cliche.” I can feel his eyes boring through my cheek, but I’m trying to stay composed.

“I’m nothing if not a cliche.”

“Yeah, you sound like one.”

“Did it hurt?” _Oh, hell no._

I laugh imagining him finishing that pick-up line. “Don’t even continue.”

“Oh, come  _ooooon_. Ask me.”

“This is not making you magically attractive, you know that, right?” _Who does he think he is?_

“I don’t really need help in that department but being flirty doesn’t hurt. So?”

“I’m not doing it.”

“ _Pweeety pweeeeeease?_ ” _Shit._

“Did what hurt?” My smile must be splitting my face in half at this point.

“When you fell from heaven.”

“You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” Can he stop staring already?

“I have to go.” _Mom and dad must be worried sick._

“Where to?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Uh-huh. I can be flirty too.

“ _Daaaamn_ , baby. You’re more mysterious than I am.” I stand up and look at him for a little while. He must be at around twice my height sitting like this, his knees almost reaching the top of his head.

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” _Aaaand_ , that’s my cue. It’s time to run before I lose all confidence and let this person maul or kill me. Because with how raspy his voice is, and a mild scent of that _boyish_ shampoo, I would most likely not even object. 

 

* * *

 

It’s been a month since the summer vacation officially started and I want to feel calm, I really do. But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m heading towards the edge of a cliff, but I’m not going there willingly, more like stumbling on a slope. It’s that sense of impending doom that had me walking around in circles through the rows of neatly packed strawberry bushes. The sun is especially active today and it hurts my eyes a little bit but I squint through it. I’ve never been a fan of sunglasses and I’m not about to start. Everything is sort of good, and I guess I want things to stay the same. It’s better for it to stay the same than get worse. I’m not a raging optimist, so I don’t hope for the _better._

I’ve done my chores for the day and now it’s time to do what I do best - lie under the branches of the beech tree with a book. I scratch the cover of the worn copy of _The Picture of Dorian Gray,_ pleased to discover that it still has certain hardness in it despite being over fifty years old. I open it on the first page as I did so many times before, and my nose quite literally in the book, head towards my favorite location. It’s not until I stumble over something that I first take for a root that I realize - _someone else is here._

I want to say that I fell gracefully but it couldn’t be further from the truth. My face falls right into the binding but the rest of my body doesn’t survive that well. My elbows are definitely scraped, and I can feel the pulsating pain spreading there already. The front of my lower leg hurts sharply from something hard that it bumped into. My nose is throbbing but I’m sure it’s nothing serious. I slowly lift up on my palms, standing on all fours and turn my head to give whatever the hell thought it was appropriate to be on my path a pointed glare. Instead of having to be pissed at an inanimate object, my eyes are stuck to a form of a young man with pitch black hair, leaning on one of his elbows and staring with a mix of fear and incredulity.

There’s an awkward and charged staring contest under the beech tree that afternoon, lasting for almost a minute. I only recover when my arms start to shake, and I feel that pulse in my elbows again, worse than before. I sit back on my heels and continue to look at the man I’ve never seen before who somehow seems extremely familiar. The glasses he’s wearing are magnifying the blue eyes almost comically, and the cigarette he was smoking before I interrupted is long gone between his fingers.

“I’m sorry.” _Why am I apologizing?_

It still takes a while for him to recover. “Um, what?” _Was_ that a cigarette?

“I tripped over you. I’m sorry.” I still don’t understand what I’m apologizing for.

“Oh, um. Don’t be, please. I shouldn’t have been sprawled here like a noodle.” He smiles, and I think something inside me explodes a little. The two front teeth are sticking out when he grins, forming double smile lines on either cheek.

“Okay… Well, I just don’t typically find anyone here. It’s sort of unusual.” I think I smile in return, but I’m too preoccupied studying the stranger’s face. It might even be the man who asked me to light the cigarette about a week ago. But he’s so much younger in daylight.

“Here? You mean under the tree?” He finally abandons the cigarette and throws it closer to the trunk.

“Don’t do that!” Apparently, my need to protect mother nature is higher than self-preservation because instead of looking at my scrapes, I go to pick up the butt.

The look I get is nothing short of pure fascination. But it doesn’t seem mocking, it’s more endearing than anything. I want to be flattered but the asshole littered _at_ my favorite place, _on_ my favorite spot. And I’m too angry to pay his shiny ocean eyes due attention. And I guess I can’t form coherent sentences at this point, because instead of explaining my actions I simply scoff and strut in the direction of my house, leaving the book as a promise of future interrogation.

I enter the cottage like a hurricane, the door crashing against the wall with a mark, a few pieces of mail falling to the floor from the speed at which I’m walking. I get to the kitchen and throw the stick into the trashcan under the sink, washing my hands twice afterward. Anger turns into irritation, and I’m striding back through the hallway leading to the backdoor when I hear my mother’s voice.

“Eddie-bear! What’s with the noise?” They must be in the living room because she’s not screaming and I can hear her clearly.

“Nothing, mama. Just had to throw something disgusting out.” I try to say it loud enough to avoid getting into the room, but it doesn’t work.

“Come here, I have something to show you.” I try not to roll my eyes, _I really do,_ but her overwhelming possessive nature is unbelievable sometimes.

“What is it?” My voice sounds more irritated than I intended and I cringe instantly.

But mom is all concern, as usual, and she picks up on my shitty mood instantly. “What happened to you, Eddie?” Now she’s looking me up and down searching for injuries. _Great._

“I fell under the beech tree. The root got me again.” I don’t know why I don’t tell them about the boy (man?). It seems like something I’d want to keep private.

“Oh, honey, come here. I got the kit on the coffee table.” I surrender mostly because I _do_ need to sanitize everything before bacteria get in. But then there’s dad’s warm, comforting gaze, and my mood melts into softness under it.

I end up watching an episode of Seinfeld with them, fidgeting and scratching my cuticles in impatience the whole time. I find that I really don’t want the boy (man?) to be gone by the time I get back. The episode really is funny, and I do love watching TV with the two of them, but I rarely get anything else to be excited about, and I want to savor this thing ( _that doesn’t seem right_ ) that’s just mine.

I kiss both of them on the cheek, trying not to linger on dad’s sickly face and run out the back door, instantly hit with the chilly air of the late afternoon. The sun hasn’t started setting yet but it’s noticeably later now, and goosebumps form on my skin sooner than I can think of getting a coat. Dad’s flannel is laying on the bench of the back porch, and I pick it up, putting it on swiftly while I’m walking towards the tree.

Miraculously, the guy is still there, smoking another cigarette, _of course._ And I’m not that annoyed by the action itself; I’m merely irritated by the nonchalant attitude he has towards the surrounding environment. He’s trespassing on our farm, _and_ he thinks he belongs there. It gets under my skin.

“You shouldn't have done that.” I’m standing right above him with hands on my hips, and I hope I look threatening.

“Shouldn’t have done what, cutie?” I hate the way that word makes me feel. I hate the way his voice makes me feel, to be honest.

“Throw the cigarette under the tree. This is my farm’s tree, and you shouldn’t litter here.”

There’s a beat during which the man takes a long drag of the cigarette, and then he gently rubs his thumb on my toe, and I’m struck with a wave of something so powerful that it makes my knees weak. I didn’t even realize I was barefoot until then.

“Come lie down with me.” _That voice, god._

“I don’t think so. You’re under _my_ tree, you know.”

He suddenly sits up a little, leaning on his elbows. “ _Your_ tree? Did you plant it?”

“Um, no. I’m pretty sure it’s at least a hundred years old.”

“Then you don’t own it.” He lies back and stares at the branches, hands behind his head.

“It’s on my farm. Of course, I own it.”

“Angel, I’m sure you work the hardest, but the tree doesn’t belong to you. Ownership is subjective, anyway.” _What the fuck is he even talking about?_

“Well, you’re on my property anyway. So you don’t make the rules, period.” His eyes are suddenly on me, and they’re pure raw _intensity,_ and I don’t even know what’s behind them. He confuses me, but I don’t want it to show.

“You want me to leave?”

I have to think it over a bit. There’s a big part of me, a part I don’t recognize or understand, that wants nothing less than to see him leave.

“No.” This voice doesn't belong to me. It comes off warm and desperate, nothing like how I speak to mom and dad, or even Mike.

I decide that the best course of action is to lie down before the crimson color of my cheeks starts to match the approaching sunset.

There’s a silence that stretches for minutes but it’s not awkward. There are a million questions I want to ask him, staring with _what’s your name? do you like tea or coffee? which side of the bed do you sleep on?,_ but I can’t force my mouth to open. I just lie there, wrapped in my dad’s flannel, my feet numbing from the cold air. The smell of tobacco is almost gone, and I couldn’t be more glad. He doesn’t light another cigarette, and I feel a surge of gratitude that should be smaller for someone I barely know. Or don’t really know at all.

“So…” He doesn’t elaborate further.

“So?”

“How long have you lived on this farm of yours?”

“My whole life. What are _you_ doing here?”

He laughs earnestly. “Do I seem _so_ out of character?”

“Honestly? Yeah.” I snort softly, and I think he turns to look at me, but it’s brief enough to be a figment of my imagination.

“I haven’t been here long.”

“Was that you before? When I slept here?”

He takes a damn long time to answer. “Yeah.”

“Why did you ask me for a lighter? I mean… who introduces themselves like that?”

“You’re pretty forward, aren’t ya?” He turns sideways fully this time, lying down on his left arm.

“I just don’t like dancing around the truth.”

He stares long enough for me to turn around and see if he fell asleep. The sky started turning a pastel orange behind the trunk of the tree.

“What?” His eyes are extremely odd. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like them. The shade of blue almost changes with his mood and the intensity of the conversation. They’re very dark now, like a clear lake at night.

“I don’t know. I just like to look at you.” I can feel the warmth spread through my entire body, tingling my toes.

“Why, you were watching me a lot before you woke me up that night?” I’m only half-joking.

“Not for _too_ long,” _OH,_ “Chris wasn’t too far - might’ve thought I was gonna molest you or something.”

“That’s what _I_ thought. You don’t seem threatening in daylight though.” I can’t help the smile that spreads on my face.

He grins in response, and I’m stuck with something nauseating in my stomach. It makes my hands shake, and I find that I don’t like it at all.

“The Sun is coming down already. You never know if I change with the time of the day too.”

“I think you’re full of shit, honestly.” _That grin again._

“And _you_ are stunning.” _Wh-what?_

I don’t think any rational _or_ irrational part of me could’ve come up with a response just then.

“Your eyes,” he starts to elaborate, “I can see the reflection of the sunset. It looks like you have a fire behind them. It’s…”

I’ve never wanted someone to finish the sentence more. “It’s what?”

“Breathtaking,” he breathes out that word as something sacred and my chest feels nauseatingly tight. I’m suddenly aware of my heart beating relentlessly, stuck somewhere in the middle of my throat.

I don’t even know what to say to that. No one has ever complimented me before, or paid that much attention really. I’m more than confused - I’m utterly terrified of this new territory. Let alone, I have never met another gay guy in a fifty-mile radius of the farm, and even there, they were more closeted than not. His utterly confident persona and those flirtatious words make my head spin, and out of lack of experience, I’m not sure what to do. So I just look.

I look at the small sprawl of freckles on his nose and cheeks, on his sharp jawline, on the many piercings that are now visible in his ear, the lobe stretched out. I let my eyes trace over his entire body: sort of skinny but he’s definitely lean, and it’s more than visible on the bicep he’s lying on. He’s wearing all black with no patterns on it, the jeans a little ripped and worn, the shirt with occasional tears in it that were very purposeful, and the same shoes I saw a week ago. He would stand out anywhere, but here he is a pronounced flame in the dark. And I’m a stupid moth.

“Are you staying with Chris?”

He blinks a couple of times as if I took him out of a buzzing thought process. “Yeah. He’s my uncle. I’m staying with him for now.” He doesn’t expand the explanation, and I don’t press.

“I live with my parents.”

“I got that much, sweets.” And he smiles again. Wide and pretty. _Shit._

“And how would you get that information, I wonder?”

“Saw you guys sitting on the back porch last night. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a family that peaceful. It’s nice.” His eyes are pronounced with raw honesty, and I can’t help but wonder if he ever had moments like those.

“We love hanging out together. I’m more family-oriented anyway.”

“You seem like it.” His smile isn’t as wide anymore. It’s secretive, small, very… _intimate._

“ _You_ don’t.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

I decide to take the first step. Because I _never_ do. “I’m Eddie. Eddie Kaspbrak.”

“I’m Richard.”

“Just Richard?”

“I mean, you can call me Dick. Suits me better anyway.”

“Is there any other nickname available?”

“What’s wrong with Dick?” I give him a pointed look, and it makes him laugh. “Fine, fine. It’s Richie. Richie Tozier.”

“Are you staying here long?”

“I guess we’ll find out, Eds.” _Oh no._

 

* * *

  

I’m finding it very difficult to stay away. Even for someone who doesn’t enjoy anything remotely social, I feel myself being more clingy than usual. But I never go to Chris’ farm - Richie is just always already at mine. Today, I find him lying down on the ground face down, wearing long black shorts and nothing else. It’s not under the tree this time. He’s right between my most flourishing strawberry rows, and I smile wide like a complete idiot when I see him. Because he’s just lying there with no particular purpose, and I wonder if he came to see me.

Richie is holding the glasses in his hand, and his eyes are closed. It’s probably the first time I notice how dark and long his lashes are. The glasses are large enough to cover half of his face, and it’s always hard to read him with them on. I sit down right by his head and ruffle his hair a little to attract attention. His mane looks like an uncared-for mop of dry strings, but it’s surprisingly soft to the touch.

He lifts his head and leans it on the palms, looking up at me with a dashing smile that gets me every time. His eyes are very light today, and there is the first sign of a sunburn on his nose and tops of the cheeks. I tried to tell him this would happen but naturally, he didn’t listen.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see you.” He starts playing with the hem of my jean shorts and his fingers involuntarily brush on my thigh. I can feel it radiating _everywhere._

“No, dumbass. I mean, what are you doing _here_ here. Between the strawberry bushes.”

“Oh, well, I thought you could let me try some? I don’t really like fruit but you look too cute cooing over them, and it leaves me wondering.”

I’m so surprised and pleased by his enthusiasm that I don’t really know what to answer at first. “Oh, um… Sure. I didn’t bring a bowl though. Will you carry them in your hands?”

He beams instantly and bops my nose. It makes me giggle like a three-year-old. “Of course, Eddie-Spaghetti.”

“Jeez, don’t call me that, I beg you.”

We end up spending way too much time cutting a couple of strawberries. He makes fun of my fanny pack, but he has that endearing tone hinting that it’s more of a compliment than anything. I let him cut one strawberry but he just rips half the bush with a root, and I double over in laughter, happy tears spilling down my cheeks. I don’t let him try again. I ask him to reach his palms out and hold the batch. His hands are large and fingers long, and my own tingle every time I put a strawberry there. Our eyes connect when I get close, and it makes my entire body feel as if it’s under a stupid spell of some kind.

We finally make it to my house, and I nod for him to follow me towards the kitchen. Our bare feet are leaving dirt marks on the floor that I’ll get reprimanded for later, but it doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would. 

It’s so quiet in the house, and the sound of his footsteps makes my heart thud in a competitive rhythm. I want to turn around and jump into his arms, as ridiculous as that sounds, but I don’t even know if that’s what he wants. I don’t know much about him, period.

We’re standing in front of the large sink, washing the berries gently, careful to remove the stem without leaving a prominent dent on the strawberry. He does it to one of them, and knowing that it’s ruined he reaches it out and it’s hovering in front of my mouth, waiting to be eaten. I hesitate for just a second, mostly because the heat of the moment seems more like a lucid dream, and bite half of it, never breaking eye contact. I only hope that my dark browns are almost black now - I want him to know that I want him without saying it. I don’t think I can pull the courage to utter the words. Richie’s eyes drop to my lips but he doesn’t do anything about it and flicks the rest of the berry into his mouth. That somehow makes my knees slightly weak.

I don’t know how long we’re standing there. It’s all laughter, and awkward smiling, limbs touching and the sound of birds singing in the distance. It all feels like a movie, and not at all like the real life I'm used to. I don’t know what I expected, but it definitely wasn’t this. My summer is turning into a dream that I can’t catch up with. At some point, we’re cleaning the counters and his pinkie brushes against my thumb, and my entire body feels like weak jello. I can’t get him out of my head.

 

* * *

 

At all. He’s always there. I guess this is what falling in love feels like. I wake up, and I don’t want to open my eyes, daydreaming about waking up to his sunburnt face, lashes resting on top of his cheeks, freckles a bright brown. I turn around to face the other side, feeling the sunshine on my face but my chest aches for the brush of his fingers on my cheek and I want to scream from how much I want it. I think I want it more than breathing at this point.

It’s the scariest day of my life when he invites me to go see a movie at a drive-in theater. Richie never says it’s a _date_ but his smile is all mischief and seduction, and I want nothing more than to sit next to him in the dark. It’s that morning that my imagination seems to be more active than usual. I can’t stop picturing his pink lips on my neck, can’t stop thinking about biting his piercings and finding out whether he has more. I’m curious about absolutely everything and I can’t wait to see him. My hands wander all over my body as soon as I wake up, and I think the blush doesn’t leave me for the next couple of days.

I do all of my chores again, including reorganizing my room and putting my necessities in boxes per my mother’s request. She still doesn’t want to accept my decision to stay at the farm. _They need me._ I don’t care what they say. I’m staying, and I’m going to help them. That’s the end of it.

I decide to wear these white capris that mom got me at some point. I never really felt confident enough to wear them, but they seem to hug my thighs just right, and judging by the way Richie’s tight jeans make me feel, all I want is for him to look at me that way. My shirt is a pastel green, and it’s a stark contrast to my tan skin, but I think it looks good. I honestly never saw a person paler than Richie, and I’m not sure if my complexion is what he finds attractive.

It’s very late now, and the end of June is hotter than ever. My shoes are thin and comfortable. I hope internally that mom and dad are already sleeping but my luck is far away from being on my side. Should've known after that old mousse didn’t make my hair behave.

“Eddie, are you going somewhere?” I really don’t want her to be disappointed, so I resort to rock bottom - blatant lying.

“Going to Mike’s. He needed help with something in the barn.”

“Honey, Will hasn’t said anything to me about this.” I’m peeking into the living room now, knowing that she’ll start screaming if I don’t pay full attention.

“It’s not one of his dad’s assignments. He’s working on something with Ben.” It's not a lie at all, actually. Ben has been sketching him a gate that would let one animal out at a time. They’ve been concentrated on working with some wooden fakes, trying to create a replica of Mike’s farm.

“Eddie-bear, why don’t you hand me the phone, so I-“

“Ay, Sonnie, give this boy a break. Let him have the summer of his life,” says dad, and I honestly don’t know how to express my gratitude.

I settle for the warmest smile I can muster and his eyes are somehow _knowing._ He’s aware of my shameless lying but he’s letting it slide. He seems to be kind of encouraging even. I notice that the bags under his eyes are not a dark shade of purple anymore, the pink tint of them is barely visible. It makes hope sit heavy in the middle of my chest and I can feel my eyes tear up a little. But before I burst into full-on sobbing, mom recovers from her reverie.

“I’m only letting this happen because your father is okay with it. I need you to be careful and make sure you don’t crash your bike on the way there.” I let out a held breath.

“I never crashed, mama.”

She looks me up and down, probably judging how nice and put-together I look, going to a farm to help my friend. She’s about to open her mouth when my dad starts pointing animatedly at the TV, telling her that she missed a great moment of the show. Her arms are flying up in frustration, and I’m instantly forgotten. I slowly leave the arch leading up to the living room and catch dad’s wink before I make a final exit. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without him.

I should probably feel guilty for lying, but I can’t help it. Richie is my little secret that nobody knows about. Hell, _I_ don’t know much about him, to begin with. But that’s about to change. I’m going to get under his skin if that’s the last thing I do.

I realize that I’m not even walking at this point - I’m basically jogging towards the fence separating mine and Chris’ farms. I quickly hop over, careful not to smudge any dirt on my capris and head to the back, knowing that Richie is waiting there for me next to his uncle’s old Chevvy pick-up that matches the color of my shirt, minus the rust. Expect as I’m getting closer, careful not to appear on the line with the windows of Chris’ house, I start hearing loud thudding noises as if a wall is getting punched. Except when I get to the back barn, I see Richie kicking and punching the beat-up truck, arms and legs flying everywhere and I can’t tell if it’s a workout or some way to release the anger.

I clear my throat and he instantly stops, eyes wide and glasses crooked. He’s wearing all black again but his jeans don’t have any rips this time, and the shirt has a colorful logo on it I don’t recognize. He’s panting heavily from whatever mayhem he was part of a minute ago and I just stand there, utterly fascinated with the weirdness of this kid. I don’t think I’d be able to figure him out even if he told me all there is to know. He seems like the kind of a person who’s constantly discovering something new about themselves. Like a mixtape that’s been recorded over but still has glitches of the past songs on it.

“Hi, Eds. Sorry, I was punishing this piece of crap for ruining our perfect night.”

“Would you ever stop calling me that?” I roll my eyes with more intensity than I intend to, and I can feel them straining a little from the action.

“No, angel. I don’t think it’s possible for me to be regulated when it comes to you.”

I get closer and peep into the passenger window. “What’s the issue?”

Richie points to the car keys peeking from the folds of the driver’s seat. I lean my forehead on the window frustratingly and breathe out, thinking of a solution. Hoping that it’s not going to cause damage, I walk around the barn (that looked more like a car service center) and find a wrench. I put it straight under the driver’s window, trying to let the lock loose. After about half a minute of honest struggle I feel like I bumped into something, and the sound is all I need to hear to know that the job is done. I throw the wrench on a couple of boxes standing behind me and crawl into the passenger’s seat from the driver’s side.

Richie seems to be entirely transfixed, looking at me with blown confusion in his eyes, frozen in the position next to the passenger’s door. I knock my knuckles on the window playfully, nodding for him to get in. I think he blushes, but I can’t tell - he turns around that fast, turning off the lamp hanging in the middle of the barn.

He gets in and I can now certainly tell that he was flushing. I don’t really know where it’s coming from. Did I do something embarrassing? I hope it’s because my pants hug me just right in the back but somehow that thought doesn’t convince me at all. He starts the car after a couple of rattling tries and the space around us is hit with the prominent scent of gasoline. The car starts jumpily but recovers as soon as Richie’s foot gets used to the pressure of the pedal.

His hands are fidgeting on the wheel after the first three minutes, and I instantly know what he’s itching for. I pull out a pack of red Marlboro's from my pocket, dad’s old lighter sitting in between the cigarettes inside the pack. He doesn’t use it anymore and is never going to. I found it and figured it’s better than throwing away my parents’ hard-earned money. And I’m not about to be Richie’s babysitter - he’s more than capable of making those decisions himself.

“What’s this?” he asks with pure wonder.

“You asked me to light your cigarette. So I’m finally fulfilling the request.” I nudge the pack into his shoulder this time, making it obvious that it’s alright for him to smoke.

“I think you lit my soul, sweets.” His cliché phrases really should make him utterly unattractive to me. But then why can’t I stop thinking about him?

“Stop calling me stupid shit and light the damn cigarette.”

“Yes, sir.” He smirks and takes out one stick, and drags out the lighter afterward. I swallow the retort that’s forming on my lips about the aftermath of tobacco smoking, but I know he’s very much aware. I don’t want to be a drag.

We drive through the small town and enter the neighboring one, _Guns N’ Roses_ playing at a pleasant volume. Richie stays quiet and smokes one cigarette after another, and I don’t know if it’s because I make him nervous or because his fingers ache to be occupied with something. I decide it might be the combination of both.

The silence doesn’t bother me in the slightest - I grew up on the farm after all - and I roll down the window all the way, leaning my head on the crook of my arm. The air is a combination of that cool night smell mixed with approaching diner food and a faint scent of sunflowers. I like everything about it, and the addition of the silver swirls of tobacco somehow make it feel even more like home. Ironically, it reminds me of the drives me and dad had when I was younger.

I notice that I’m not nervous at all around him. At least when we’re not mere inches away. I don’t know what would happen if our faces were close enough to kiss. I think I might faint. And, as if on cue, a blush spreads on my cheeks, and my heart is beating faster now, a reminder that I see him as much more than a friend. I just hope he does too.

Instead of going straight to the theater, Richie turns into the drive-through of Marty’s diner, ordering both of us large cheeseburgers, curly fries, and strawberry milkshakes. There’s something so intimate in the fact that he completely guessed what I would like, _and_ ordered himself the same thing. I’m not entirely sure how to feel about it but my heart seems to be on the same page with the car’s motor, rattling in my chest excitedly. He grins at me wide when he hands me the wrapped food and I can’t even remember how to breathe. I really wish I had the experience to feel more confident around him. But I realize that I like him too much and it probably wouldn’t have made an ounce of a difference.

The drive-in cinema isn’t too far from the diner, but we’re both almost finished with the fries, Richie’s box is stuck between his thighs, some of the pieces falling to the floor occasionally. I decide not to say anything, knowing that the commentary will be in vain. The film is about to start, and we pull up at the very last row. I look at the cars on either side of us, and the windows of both are already fogged up, and one of them is creaking. I can feel my entire body flush, and I’m surprised at the fact that this is exactly how I want my night to end too.

The movie is fantastic, really, _The Goonies_ has been my favorite since I could remember, but for the life of me, I can’t focus on one conversation. Our windows are down, and Richie’s arm is draped over the opening, and he’s licking all around the milkshake straw because the thick mixture comes out unevenly. He still ends up with some left on his lower lip and I can feel something deep inside me scream with a desire to lick it off. I don’t even know how I’m containing myself at that point. I’m already half-hard and we haven’t even touched yet. Which, speaking of, why _hasn’t_ he touched me yet?

I’m contemplating whether there’s something off-putting about my outfit, sipping on the almost finished shake when I hear Richie scoot closer to me and I turn my head to see him staring intently at me. His arm is somehow behind my back and I haven’t even noticed - I’m too busy drowning in the dark ocean of his eyes. I can literally feel my legs numb and my head feels light, at least that’s how I imagine it feels like to dive into the deep water. I feel like I’m suffocating on the emotions rolling through me but I can’t seem to put a stop to it. I don’t really think I want to.

He takes he milkshake from my hand gently and he has to pull a little - I didn’t even realize I was clutching it. It’s not much of a struggle on my part from there. He grabs the inside of my thigh and turns me so I’m basically fully facing him at that point. I can hear my own heartbeat and the voices of the film are muffled entirely - I can’t even make out a single word. My leg involuntarily bends on the seat and he moves even closer, pressing against my knee. One of his hands is still on my thigh and I feel that spot pulsating, burning, the feeling moving higher.

I think if I was asked a simple question like ‘What’s two plus two?’ right now, I would probably say something like ‘Yeah’. Because, _fuck,_ there is so much green light in my head for what’s about to happen even though my brain is finding it next to impossible to catch up. I hear Richie breathe quickly and deeply as if he’s struggling himself. And I know from the way he’s holding me and the intensity at which his eyes are trained on my lips that he wants this too. I move first because I just can’t wait anymore. My body is feeling too much and I can’t even feel my toes.

My bravery pays off full-force when he bites my bottom lip, groaning and moaning, moving his lips with a perfect rhythm to mine, and I feel like I’m asleep. As in, a permanent slumber. A coma. Because there’s no way,a guy like _that_ is kissing me. There’s no way I’m making out in someone’s truck in the middle of a drive-in.

It’s when his tongue touches mine that I completely lose it. The sounds coming out of me are unfamiliar and odd, but I think he likes it because he’s clutching me hard enough to bruise. It’s a dull burning pain that’s not really there because my entire body feels like it’s been thrown into a campfire. _Moth._

His fingers are behind my neck now, and I realize that my body is somehow moving along with the kiss, coming off in waves against his body. I think he gets tired of it or wants more because he grabs me under the ass and I’m sitting in his lap now, and I’m very aware of what the movement was now. I’m full-on grinding on him, and I can’t stop even if I wanted to. Because his tongue is exploring everything my mouth has to offer, and his hands are pushing me more towards him, and I realize that this is what pure bliss feels like.

It’s fascinating that something like this can happen between two people who know each other for less than a month. I mean, we’re basically fucking at this point, and I don’t even know what the names of his parents are. I don’t know why he never brings them up or whether he has siblings. I don’t know what his favorite color is or why he always wears black. I don’t know why he only talks to me and seems to only read books that are over a hundred years old.

But maybe it’s not so bad because I know now what he tastes like: remnants of a strawberry milkshake, slight tint of bitter tobacco, and a bit like the fries. He tastes like french fries dipped into a milkshake. Like strawberries and cigarettes. I think I never want to taste anything again.

 

* * *

 

We don’t do much talking that night, but I realize it has to happen sooner or later. My feelings for him are sitting in the middle of my throat as a constant reminder that I have something to fantasize about. Or don’t have to anymore. But it’s hard to tell because we didn’t put a label on this whole thing and he sometimes disappears for days at a time. But maybe it makes me want him even more.

I’m pulling out the weeds a week after the _kiss_ when he shows up again, standing above me, the sun shaping the frame of his black clothing. I lift my eyes and smile but don’t say anything, unsure of what his intentions are. I should probably just ask, but I don’t really know what to say. And maybe I want whatever it is that’s going on between us to be vague. I kind of think it’s exciting.

“How ya doing?” He’s so nonchalant all the time, it pisses me off a little.

“Do you need a new prescription?”

“ _Ooooohhh_ , Eddie-Spaghetti. That was some serious snark, my good sir.” He sits down cross-legged in front of me, beaming behind his glasses.

“You can be especially irritating when you’re begging for attention,” I smirk up at him and hope that I’m not being too bold. I don’t want to push him away.

“If it’s your attention, I’m willing to beg day n’ night, angel.” _Angel._

“Is there a specific reason you’re all up in my space right now?”

“I just wanted to hang out. I missed you.” _Oh._ That was unexpected.

“Why did you leave then?” I guess it _does_ bother me that I don’t know what he does half the time.

“Had some things to take care of with my parents. Nothing interesting.” His tone isn’t harsh but it’s kind of final, and I don’t press any further. I don’t really press him on anything. Maybe I should at some point.

“Chris didn’t go.”

“Yeah, he didn’t need to. I’m over eighteen.” Something about this whole thing with his parents doesn’t sit well with me. I sit back on my heels and put the dirty hands on the jean fabric of my overalls.

“Is there something I should know?”

“You can ask me anything, you know that.”

“I don’t really know anything about you.”

“I don’t know much about you either.”

“Okay then,” I rub my hands together fast to clean off the dirty soil, “what grade are you in?”

“Senior in college.”

 _WHAT._ “What?” I think my face paled to his skin tone.

“I’m just messing with you.” Of course, he’s laughing. “I just graduated high school.”

“Okay. So did I. What school are you going to?”

“I’m not. Moving somewhere warmer probably but I’m not going to college.”

I think he’s the first person I’ve met who downright rejected education. “Can I ask why?”

“I don’t belong in school. Could never concentrate. It’s not my thing.”

“What _is_ your thing? Do you make music?”

“God, no. I can’t even hold a guitar without dropping it.” He laughs warmly, and I feel some tension seep away.

“So, what are you going to do when you move?”

“Not sure. Maybe work as a bartender somewhere. But I’ll probably break too many glasses and get fired all the time.” He laughs again and I just now realize that he has a thing for self-deprecating jokes.

“So you’re just going to move away without a plan? Your parents are okay with that?”

He stays silent for a while. “I mean, they don’t really get a say in it. It’s not like I’m asking them for money.” His answer is purposefully vague, and it makes me uncomfortable. “What about you? Which school?”

“I don’t want to go to one.”

“Why not?”

“I want to stay here and help mom and dad. There are enough people getting an education as it is.”

He moves a little closer and puts his hands on my knees. “You want to stay on the farm?”

“Yeah. Why?” I can’t read his face at all right now.

“Do you want my honest opinion?”

“Yes.”

“I think you shouldn’t stay here. You should move to a big city, like San Francisco or something, and make it there. You have so much to offer to the world, Eddie.” His words are so honest and raw that I’m uttered speechless for almost a minute. I probably look like a cartoon fish wish eyes sticking out from perpetual surprise, and mouth shaped like an ‘O’.

“Um… I don’t think so. I don’t know anything about living in the city.”

“You don’t have to! But please tell me you don’t actually want to spend the rest of your life like your dad, sitting on a farm and never driving past a twenty-mile radius.”

I know he doesn’t mean to be a monumental asshole just then, but it still stings, so I stand up. “Don’t talk about my dad like that. He doesn’t have a choice but to stay here.” I walk away and ignore the pebbles thrown at my window at night for almost a week. I don’t know what I’m afraid of, but being with him made me think too much. I don’t want that.

 

* * *

 

Richie Tozier is officially etched under my skin. I avoid him for a while but it doesn’t really work. He sits on the wooden fence separating our farms and watches me plant, or pick, or clean, and I don’t know what to do with that. My body is screaming to run into his arms but my head is stuck between fear and irritation. I don’t know him that well but I’m willing to open my whole heart to him, and I don’t think it’s fair. I also don’t think that it’s fair that I fall in love with him more every day, and watch him completely destroy his uncle’s garage.

Something about his words is sitting heavy with me. I mean, does he think everybody wants to rule the world? Live in New York? Drive a Mercedes? I’m not like that, and I don’t need eternal glory. I don’t want to be known for something incredible - I make my dad smile every day, and that’s more than enough. I miss making Richie laugh.

It’s mid-July, and I walk towards the beech tree, leaving the book at home. I’m only wearing jean shorts because the heat has been close to unbearable, and there is next to no wind. The only escape is under the large branches, but I’m not even surprised when I see Richie lying there with hands behind his head. He’s thoroughly unbothered, and the desire to make him worry or squirm or express _something_ overcomes my body like a wave of iced water.

I decide for the first time in my life to be a tease because two can play at this game too. I also don’t know how to apologize for ignoring him, so I want to hope that he still likes to kiss me. Because I can’t stop thinking about it.

So I walk slowly, barefoot and quiet, hoping that he doesn’t know I’m there. I’m probably failing miserably because the corner of his mouth is twitching and I think he knows what I’m doing. So I lie down on my stomach quietly, hovering right above his face, and place the sweetest, softest kiss I can muster. A drop of sweat from my forehead slips and falls on his chin, and he smiles wide, chasing my lips. We kiss like that for a while, no tongue, just tugging on each other’s lips desperately, exploring one another’s mouths as if for the first time. It ends when my elbows are numb from being in the same position for a while and it mirrors the feeling on my lips. But I can’t get enough. I don’t think I could ever get enough of him.

 

* * *

  

We don’t talk about my dad again, and I think it’s for the best. He’s probably avoiding the subject altogether to make sure I don’t go radio silent on him again. I don’t think I could handle it either, so I don’t even consider it. We don’t talk about our plans for school or anything that has to do with the future, really. We try to enjoy every day. And we _so_ do.

I eventually give in and help him fix the engine of that beat-up Chevvy. It’s in horrid condition but only because both he and his uncle are shit at fixing cars. Dad taught me when I was little and I guess it stuck with me. Me and Richie go to my house to talk to him when mom’s not home to complain about our dirty feet, and he shows us exactly what to do. I think he gives me these knowing glances at some point but he’s an intrinsically quiet person and I don’t take it as anything serious. But he looks better and talks to Richie nicely, so I have absolutely nothing to complain about.

Richie and I make out absolutely everywhere. It’s a full-blown true-to-the-bone mess. I’m not even that much of a teenager anymore but I don’t think my hormones raged this hard since a crush I had in 6th grade on one of the high schoolers. It’s not a plausible comparison but I have no other lines to draw so I let myself think that I’m utterly fucked at this point. I’m hard every time he so much as looks at me differently and I can’t stop my brain from completing the picture. But I think the biggest part of it is that if I had to choose for someone to be my first, I’d want it to be Richie.

I don’t think I ever thought about it as much as I have in the past month. It’s one wet dream after another and making out between the rows of strawberry bushes, swirling in the dry ground which is starting to hurt my back. I think it’s safe to say that I’m as ready as you can be for sex.

And we still haven’t discussed the status of whatever relationship we had. I’m glad we’re talking more and I’m forming a more complete picture of him as a person, but I’m never entirely sure what we are to each other. Maybe it doesn’t need to matter, but I just wish I had an idea.

It’s the end of July and the nights are starting to get just a tad bit longer. There is an occasional rain here and there, dropping the temperature a little and it makes for a nice change. Everything is still in full bloom, and the farm is bursting with almost every color of the rainbow. If I could paint, I’d paint the view of our farm from the rooftop, and put a small black blob under the beech tree, signifying a certain someone who doesn’t want to leave my spot alone.

Speaking of, _that’s_ the spot. I don’t want a bed, or hay, or any other basic nonsense. I want it to be under my tree. _Our_ tree. It has to be it.

I plan for the day that Chris is out of town, and mom and dad are out of state for another check-up. It’s a bit too perfect, how everything lines up but I’m not one to complain. I don’t get these kinds of moments often, and I’m trying to savor everything about it. I leave a note for Richie under the car to meet me at midnight, and lose myself in preparatory work for the rest of the day. I’m glad that he doesn’t show up to the house early to ruin the plans, but then maybe he got the hint, and he needs to do some prepping of his own.

Turns out, I’m no good at this kind of stuff. 

My palms are sweating relentlessly, and my typically warm hands are stark cold from nervousness. I break three pots of cactuses sitting on my windowsill and slip on some sour cream I drop during lunch. I mean, I have _never_ been messy, so the confident bravado I had in the morning is soon replaced by knee-shaking fear.

And honestly, what is it about people worrying so much about who’s going to stick it in them first? Or who they’re going to stick it to? Why can’t we just enjoy each other’s company until the right moment comes, and we just lose ourselves in it?

I know it’s not realistic, especially for two guys to be _spontaneous,_ at least not the first time, but I like to think that the physical aspect of a relationship doesn’t need to be that big of a deal.

Except it so fucking is. At least, it is to me. Maybe because I’m so in love with Richie that I think it’s monumentally impossible to feel like this again. Maybe I read novels too much.

I pass the evening lying on my bed completely naked, trying to get comfortable in my own skin. When you live on a farm that’s almost always hell-level hot, you never get to wear a lot of clothing. The winters are very cold, but they’re replaced with unbearable heat almost as soon as April comes along. I know I have nothing to worry about, but something about the soft parts of my body is making me question everything, and I feel a tear roll off the side of my face.

I let my hand trace over the swell of the bottom of my belly, trying not to hate mom for feeding me so much. Richie saw me shirtless before, so I don’t think I have anything to be concerned with. I mean, I saw how he looks at me. I highly doubt anyone would fake _that._ I let myself explore the thickness of my thighs and the smooth bumpiness of stretch marks on my hips and buttocks. I don’t really think there’s anything wrong with me, but I want to be worth the darkness in Richie’s eyes. I want to match whatever it is he sees in me.

I spend hours just doing that. At some point, I pick up a copy of _The Sun Also Rises_ to give myself a bit of a break but I can’t even go past one page without itching to touch myself again. But I stay away from the crotch because I thrive off the anticipation, and I _want_ to be overstimulated enough to let myself go. I need to.

 

It’s almost midnight. I put on nothing but my overalls, fresh out of the shower, and head downstairs to make it to the kitchen. I take out a bowl of cold strawberries - the most beautiful and plump ones I could find - and exit out the back door. I can feel my entire body tingling. I can’t see that far, but I think Richie is already there, possibly lying down in his favorite position. I wish I could fly right about now.

The bowl shakes a little in my hands, and I’m breathing deep, hoping that it would calm me. I think it only makes it worse. By the time I get close enough to see his outline, my heart is beating hard enough for the ribs to rattle. It’s overwhelming and nauseating. I love everything about it.

I was right about him getting ready. He’s wearing nothing but overalls too, and I want to scream from the top of my roof. He sits up as soon as he hears my shuffling feet on the grass and the moonlight hits the side of his face just right - there’s a beautiful shadow outlining cheekbone to the jaw, hugged by almost transparent skin, and his blue eyes seem almost grey. I hope they darken soon.

I get a little closer, and I notice that he’s lying on a blue plaid blanket, very spacious and seemingly comfortable. My heart is almost unbearable now. I really don’t want to faint.

I sit down next to him, mirroring his position and put the bowl of berries right in between us. It’s kind of hard to breathe, and I know it has nothing to do with the weather because it’s pleasantly chilly right now. The moon isn’t full tonight, but it’s almost there, hanging in the middle of the sky, waiting for its chance to climb higher. It seems to be on the perfect level today, barely covered by the branches. My eyes adjust fairly quickly, mostly because I purposefully kept the house dark the whole day, wanting to see every little thing.

I just notice - he’s not wearing glasses. That’s why his eyes are so prominent tonight. He’s searching all over my face, and I don’t know what he’s looking for. I’m too nervous to speak.

I reach out and brush his fingers on the blanket, trying to alleviate the tension. It works in the absolute opposite way because as soon as we touch, an electric shock shoots through me and I think if anyone tried to interrupt us right now, I would shoot them point blank.

Everything from the way he’s looking at our fingers to the subtle shake of his body makes something low in my abdomen erupt with an intensity I’ve never quite felt before. It terrifies me, but I try my very best to shift it to excitement. I think it works because I smile wide - I can’t even help it. I laugh nervously, and he looks up at me, smiling in return. I didn’t even know closed lips could say so much.

I scoot closer, pinning the bowl against his thighs and lift my face to his. He’s sitting a little higher because of his long torso, so I resort to brushing my nose against his jawline. He smells fucking fantastic, and I think no number of novels could amount to the bursting feeling in my chest. It’s insurmountable how in-love I feel, and my elbow feels weak holding up my leaning body. I think it’s very possible that I could faint at any moment.

I start kissing his neck and go down to the collarbones, nipping a little, teasing. I don’t want him to lead, but I do want to get a reaction out. He’s breathing very hard, and I think I can hear his heartbeat matching mine. My kisses are suddenly interrupted by a cold hand on my face. He tilts my head to look straight into his eyes, and I can see the dark blues glistening, but the rest of his face is a framed shadow.

His lips brush against mine so softly that if it weren’t for the electric energy between us, I wouldn’t have known they touched me. I lose my patience fairly quickly and tug on his lower lip to open wider, moving my mouth in a rhythm that showed him it’s going to be nothing like our previous makeup sessions. He moans out when our tongues touch and I do the same, feeling my lower body jerk in response. He tastes like spearmint. I think I’m losing my mind.

It’s honest-to-god delirium. I mean, why does nobody warn you that you lose control over absolutely everything in moments like these. Everyone talks about how good it feels to be inside someone, or for someone to be in you, but this? No one talks about this. The _pre_ -sex. The absolute bliss.

I think I black out for a couple of seconds because I’m suddenly lying on top of him, one of my legs between his. Our ramming heartbeats are basically one at this point, and I can’t catch enough breath. I wish I could breathe _through_ him, so our lips wouldn’t part. I have to relax a little, it’s getting hot enough for me to _actually_ lose consciousness, so I let myself hover over him for a couple of seconds. He literally _whines_ when our lips disconnect. _Fuck._

“You okay?” If I wasn’t turned on before, this definitely did it. His voice is so ruined that the first word barely even comes out.

“Yeah, just… Need to breathe.” I take a second to hang my head above him, leaning on my palms. We need to disconnect for a little while because I can’t handle this. And I don’t want to run. That’s the last thing I want.

I decide to straddle his lap, but I try not to press. I still feel him hard against my ass, and it makes me nauseous with anticipation all over again. It’s not even funny at this point how fucking responsive we are to each other. I think we were made for this. His hands are circling my knees, pressing a little, and I can feel is so much in my groin that I whine in response. I don’t let him pull me back down though, grabbing a bowl of strawberries from the side. I quickly unclasp his straps with one hand, letting them fall on either side of his head. The moonlight is jumping off his skin, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I wish I could paint.

I bite off the end of the strawberry, holding onto a small stem at the end. And instead of touching him with my hands, I glide the bitten part over the middle of his torso. His hips jerk upwards and I squeeze my thighs tighter.

“Don’t move,” I instruct him, eating the rest of the strawberry when it gets to his navel.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He’s squeezing my knees so hard, I think they could snap.

“Do you want this or not?” I ask, biting the end of the next strawberry.

“I don’t think I want anything ever again. I think this is the only thing I want for the rest of my life.” My chest stings. The piece I bit off is stuck between my front teeth, and I lean down to plant it on his lips. He takes it willingly, nipping my chin in response.

My giggle seems loud in the middle of the empty farm but I can see him smile and I don’t dwell too much on it. While he's chewing, I trace the bitten strawberry over his nipples, circling it around his torso. I repeat it again, giving him a small piece, and now the berry is traveling below his navel, and I can feel his body shaking. He grabs the strawberry out of my hand and eats the rest of it, throwing the stem to the side. I dip my head low and lick the path the berries made, slowly and carefully. His hips jerk again, and I put a little pressure on his nipple, making it stand hard and responsive. His heart is beating so fast.

I lick all around his chest, putting kisses here and there, feeling the bumpiness of goosebumps on the skin of his shoulder. I kiss from the bottom of his neck to under his ear, where his _real_ smell is, and I can feel my eyes literally tearing up from how much I love everything about him. _Shit, I’m so in love with him._

Suddenly, I’m spun around, and it’s my back against the blanket now. It’s a little hard, but I can’t even think about it too much because his lips are attacking mine, his knees pressing into my hips, and I’m so lightheaded that if I was standing up, I would definitely fall down. Everything numbs and tingles, then numbs again, and these physical responses are so new and surreal that I can’t even begin to understand how to deal with it. We’re kissing so hard now that it’s almost all teeth, and I’m pulling his hair violently because I don’t even know what to do with my hands at this point. His are pressing my face from both sides, and it’s suffocating, but I want more. _More, more, more._

He suddenly separates, and I grab onto his arm, trying to pull him back down again. The jerk laughs. I mean, honestly, how fucking funny is it that I want to scream from how hard I am?

“Look who's impatient now.”

I can’t help the irritated groan. “How is this so entertaining to you?”

“Everything about you is entertaining. And exciting. There’s no one like you, you know.” _What the fuck am I supposed to do with this information?_

“Is there a reason for why I’m not biting your tongue right now?” I’m squeezing his skinny thighs because I think I might faint if I don’t grab onto something.

He laughs again. I can’t get enough of that sound, even though I’d rather he was doing something like screaming. “So impatient, angel. I’m just trying to return the favor.”  _Angel._

I squeeze his knees reassuringly, and he reaches into the bowl, biting the bottom of a strawberry. He repeats my action by unclasping the straps of the overalls and throwing them on either side of my head. I’m suddenly hit with such a rush of emotion at what’s going on. I’m about to have sex. For the first time. With a boy. With a boy of my dreams.

I’m pretty much a wrecked mess. My throat is dry now that we’re not eating each other’s mouths, and I’m itching to see him. All of him. But he’s taking his sweet time, rubbing the damn berry all over my chest and torso, letting it glide teasingly. I feel its stickiness and squirm a little, my hips jerking in response. I don’t think I can control it even if I tried. He doesn’t squeeze my hips as I did though - he's encouraging the action. I don’t even know what’s going on with my body.

When his tongue touches my skin, I want to cry. Happy tears but it feels so good that I think I feel a headache blooming. My hands are shaking on his knees, and I’m so hard that it hurts. I don’t think I ever wanted anything more in my entire life. His lips are _everywhere_ , and before I know it, he unbuttons the overalls on the side of my hip and slides them down. I’m hit with cold air, and my legs are reflexively pressing against each other in an attempt to preserve the heat, but he quickly pries them open, kissing the inside of my thighs and squeezing the heels of my feet. I'm not even sure I'm alive.

That stimulation is creating all sorts of issues, like the fact that I’m not even sure I’ll last until the grand finale. I’m terrified that I will ruin it all. Because his mouth is all over my legs and the lowest parts of my abdomen, and I forget completely that I don’t have a flat stomach. I feel so good under his hands and mouth that nothing negative even dares enter my mind. Not that I can think at all, honestly.

“Richie?” I sit up on my elbows, wanting to catch his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He crawls back up to hover above me, and I’m used enough to the dark to see a small crease between his brows.

“Take ‘em off, please.” I tug on the waistband of his overalls. And so he does.

And his skin against mine feels like pure fire. The moth is gone, it’s so entirely enveloped now that it’s nonexistent. I don’t feel like I’m on this planet anymore. I want to touch him everywhere, and I do. It’s pure bliss. All of this. I use the heel of my foot to bring him down lower and closer. It’s still not close enough. _Not close enough._

It hurts like shit. Jesus, I knew it was going to be bad, but I didn’t know just _how_ bad. And he’s so gentle. He rubs my belly in soothing circles and whispers my name. He kisses me everywhere. I mean, _everywhere._ It helps, it really does. I take my focus away and those minutes of torture are suddenly gone.

“You ready, angel?” There are tears still rolling off the sides of my face, but I squeeze his hand reassuringly and nod. I don’t want my voice to scare him away.

And it hurts some more. But not that bad. It’s pulsating numbness first, and then dull pressure, and then… then I lose my goddamn mind. He does something that makes me literally scream out, and I clutch onto his torso like a maniac, repeating his voice like a mantra. And when he whispers ‘I’m so fucking in love with you’ the tears form again, and the absolute eruption of bliss that follows after is pure fantasy. The whole night is.

I’m not even sure how he ends up lying on my chest afterward, snoring softly, his hot breath creating goosebumps on my skin. I kiss the top of his head, and my heart seems to be bursting with shooting pain from how in-love I am. I don’t ever want this to end, and I don’t know how to tell him. I fall asleep to the sounds of creaking wood and Richie’s breathing.

 

* * *

 

It’s ridiculously hot when I wake up. I’m instantly aware that I’m not wearing any clothes and it seems like midday because the sun is high above the branches, trying to push through them. I’m wrapped in a blanket like a cocoon, and I can feel a trail of sweat on my spine. I was sleeping on my arm, and it’s numb now, tingling a bit. I sit up quickly but have to roll over on my stomach when I feel pain shoot through my lower body. A memory of what happened last night hits me hard, and I start looking around.

Richie isn’t here. I couldn’t have wrapped myself in a blanket like that which means that he did it when he left. I can’t lie that I’m hurt, but I’m not going to draw any conclusions. His overalls are gone and some stuff he brought too. The only reminder of the night is my inability to sit and the blanket that smells like Richie’s hair. I wrap myself in it completely and walk towards the house, overalls on my shoulder. Mom and dad should come late at night, and I need to make sure everything is clean and ready. I enter through the back door and throw the overalls into the laundry room on my way to the kitchen. I take out a mug and pour water from the sink, standing and sipping on it slowly.

The window in front of me has a view of Chris’ house. There are no cars in the driveway or near the back barn, and I wonder where Richie had to go so urgently that he didn’t wake me up. I finish the water and set the mug down. There’s a clean bowl laying on face-down on a kitchen towel to the right of the sink. I don’t really know what to think of that.

The rest of the day is spent lying down on the bench of the back porch drinking lemonade and finally reading _The Sun Also Rises._ I occasionally lift my head to see if anyone arrives at Chris’ farm, but the place is completely quiet. The cows are sleeping in the shade of the trees, and no cars pull up into the driveway that night.

 

* * *

 

It’s been a week since mom and dad got back home, telling me that Mr. Kaspbrak is indeed, in remission! I cried so hard that night, and we couldn’t go to sleep until the early morning, packing up all of dad’s old medications into boxes for the attic. He still has a long journey to go, but everything is looking up. I cook all of us steak and eggs the next afternoon, and we even drive to see a movie in the town over. Everything is so good, I don’t even think of Richie until a couple of days pass, and I wake up struggling to breathe.

I didn’t think it would hurt this much. I wasn’t prepared for it at all. And dad’s amazing news were a distraction, but now that he and mom go out every day crossing things off dad’s bucket list, I’m left alone with my head a lot. And today, I can’t even breathe.

Something is sitting so heavy on my chest that even outside, in the fresh air, with a glass of cold water, I can’t clear my throat from a large lump pushing in the middle of it. I decide to go over and talk to Chris. I deserve it, I think. All I want is an explanation. Because there must be a good one. I didn’t imagine it all.

I knock on the front door for about ten minutes, and there’s no response. Chris’ dogs know me, so I’m not afraid of rounding the house to go to the back barn. I somehow knew he was going to be there, cleaning up Richie’s mess. I think I’m not the only one he left unannounced.

I come by to the entrance, and the doors are wide open, Chris rummaging through the boxes that are thrown all over the floor. The old Chevvy is standing in the middle.

“Hey, Chris.”

He turns around with a ghost-like expression on his face, but he tries to smile. “Hey there, Eddie. Congrats on your dad. They came by yesterday.”

“Oh, thanks. It’s a miracle, honestly.”

“Did you need the car? I know your parents are never home anymore.” He laughs softly, and I know what he’s thinking. Dad is finally feeling good enough to go out.

“No, thank you. I just had something to ask you.”

He stands up and straightens, his shoulders tight in anticipation. He doesn’t look me in the eye. “Do you happen to know where Richie is?”

Chris is holding a wrench, twirling it in his hand. He doesn’t look up, and his dark brows are furrowed. “Eh, kid. I don’t know what to tell you.”

I get a shooting pain in my temples out of nowhere. “What do you mean?”

He sighs heavily and throws the wrench into the box, leaning on the hood of the car. “I have no goddamn idea. All I know is that he isn’t here.”

My legs feel really numb now. “You mean he just left?”

His shoulders jump up, then down. “I guess so. I haven’t seen him since I left to sell some of the meat three towns over. His things are gone. I don’t really know.”

He finally looks at me, and there is nothing there but pain and pity. He _knows_ _._ Knows about us. Or he wouldn’t be so hesitant with his words. My ears are ringing a bit. I’m struggling not to stumble on the spot.

“Hey, I know he probably never said goodbye. I’m so sorry, kid. I wish I had an explanation.” He steps forward, maybe to hug me, maybe to pat me on the back but I step back quickly and just… run.

I run straight to the tree, one I can’t even look at anymore. I make it there, and my chest feels like exploding. I kick the trunk with my sneaker so hard that my toes numb instantly. I do it again. I can’t feel my right foot anymore. I run back home. I feel delirious. 

I make it up the stairs and into my room, searching for something that belongs to him. Something I could smash, or hug, or hold. But there’s… nothing. I don’t have anything. I don’t have his number. I don’t know where he lived before. I don’t have his clothes to sleep in, or his letters to re-read. It’s like he never existed. There’s absolutely no reminder of him.

I stand in the middle of the room, and my head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. It doesn’t seem real. And then I fall down on my knees, clutching my chest because I’ve never felt pain like this before. I’d rather chop my leg off. _Chop both of them off, just make this go away._

First, it’s just wheezing and utter desperation. Tears come only minutes later, but they are so heavy that my body shakes and I can’t catch a breath. Mom and dad find me like that, rubbing my shirt violently and struggling to speak. We spend the night in their bedroom that night, and I sleep on an air mattress per mom’s insistence. It’s nice and chilly in their room. They sleep with the windows open, and they don’t snore too loud. I doze off with a numbness so overwhelming that I wonder if I’ll ever smile again.

 

I do. Weeks later, when I decide to go to college, I smile. Mom and dad cry from happiness, hugging me and helping me pack. I have to spend hours on the phone, filling out the forms that I got in the mail and choosing courses. It seems right. Dad is so much better now, and I tear up every time I look at him smiling. He started gardening again. It’s his favorite thing in the whole world, and he got it back. I show him how I’ve been taking care of things in the past two years and he thanks me for putting up with the hard work. I feel proud.

“You know, this won’t last forever.” Ma’s voice is warm and careful.

We’re all in my room, I’m trying on the clothes mom bought me at the store since all the old ones are too big for me now. Mom and dad are sitting on my bed, folding the stuff that’s still okay to wear.

“What won’t?” I turn around in the mirror, avoiding looking at my own face.

“The way you feel right now. Eddie-bear, it’s not going to be this bad forever.” My mom is looking at me with loving sadness. I hate that look. It makes the pain come back tenfold, like a fucking boomerang.

“I know, ma. It’s just gonna be a while.” I take the white polo off and pick a yellow one from the bag.

“Son, I don’t know what happened. I know none of us do. But that boy did not look at you with fake emotions. There is absolutely no way I’d believe that.” Yeah, because we’re all so observant, dad. Then how didn’t I see this coming?

“Pa, I don’t want to talk about… him. It’s all a fucking joke anyway. I’ll be fine.”

“Edward,” says mom with an accusatory tone.

“Sorry, ma.”

A couple of minutes pass in silence, and then dad reaches my capris out.

“Eddie, what is this?” He never calls me that. His voice is kind of strained. It’s the red Marlboro pack in his hand. There must be only one cigarette left there. I kind of wanted to try it but never got around. Dad is sort of a constant reminder of the aftermath. Plus, it would hurt him.

“I didn’t smoke them, dad. They were for Richie.” The name rolls off the tongue easily, but my chest still tightens.

He furrows his brows and hands me the pack. “Go throw them out, son. He’s not going to need them anymore.”

I simply nod feeling guilty and go downstairs to the kitchen and throw them under the sink. I don’t even look to see if there are any left. I open the fridge to take out a bowl of strawberries, beautiful as ever. For the third time since that night, I try to pick one up and put it in my mouth. I bite off a little from the end, and it’s bitter and sour, nothing like I remember. I throw it into the sink and put the bowl back into the fridge. I think I’m done with strawberries and cigarettes for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck, this was hard to write. I think part of my soul died, but it will revive with Chapter 2. I think this is the best thing I've ever written, but I was very nervous about posting it. I'm immensely proud of this fic (and I'm literally never satisfied with anything I do), and I hope you liked it too. It might not be edited completely but I'm literally SPENT. I'll come back to it later and check things over. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> tumblr: creamy-brown-eyes


	2. Cigarettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And even if I run away  
> Give my heart a holiday  
> Still strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you  
> You always leave me wanting more  
> I can't shake my hunger for  
> Strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you

I want to say that I knew this would happen. But I was completely and entirely unprepared for what I’m going to receive the moment I come back to Chris’ farm. The second I step out of the taxi I know something is wrong right away. My hands are shaking when I open the screeching front door to an empty house, knowing that Chris is most likely away for a job. It smells like fresh wood as soon as I walk over the threshold, and the familiar bird singing slowly mutes as I go deeper into the cottage.

I open the fridge door when I get to the kitchen, suddenly aware of how low my jeans are hanging. It’s such a relief to be back here. I feel like I can breathe again. _Eddie._

The refrigerator slams loudly and my legs carry me out the back door and into the backyard, past the garage, past the fence, through the strawberry fields and to the back porch of the Kaspbrak residence. I stop in front of the dark wooden back steps, and my cheeks hurt from smiling so wide. The memories of his soft skin under my fingers swim around my head, the shiny chocolate eyes, the gold in his hair. Everything I pushed down to avoid hurting and _missing_ is suddenly making my chest tight, rushing into my mind with an intensity so high it makes me dizzy.

The bottom step creeks as my Converse lands on it, but something is wrong. It’s pressingly quiet around. More quiet than usual, and farms are generally very silent. I can see through the screen and the intricate glass in the middle of the back door that there is not a soul in that house. No one. I step back, and I’m no longer smiling, and I can feel something squeezing the middle of my throat. It’s tightening harder as I round the residence and make my way to the front. There is a small pile of mail that doesn’t stick to the mail slot anymore, tiny dead flowers around the clearing and on the envelopes. The silent creaking of the house is suddenly loud and unwelcoming. I’ve never felt more alone.

I look back and see no car in the driveway. Frank’s old Chevrolet is gone and obviously hasn’t been there for a while since the rain washed the tire tracks away. It stings more than I can even comprehend at the moment. I sit down on the top step because I just don’t know what to do at this point. I never expected to come from one pain to another. This is more than I can even handle, especially right now. Coming back here was supposed to be a relief.

I light a cigarette because I know it takes the edge off. I feel the need for the bitter taste in the back of my throat, ignited by the fire in the middle of my chest stinging so hard that I think no liquor can ever take away. It’s such a losing battle to calm down, but if I can pacify the inevitable storm for just a little while, I might be better off.

 _Eddie. My Eddie. My angel._ I never knew what missing a person felt like until now. I never had anyone to miss. I can hear his laugh in the back of my mind so sharply and suddenly that I choke on the smoke as a hard sob escapes me, and it hurts my throat, stinging _everything._ I throw a hand over my mouth because I _can’t_ afford to break down right now. I won’t let that happen. I know for a fact that it will destroy me. I don’t do pain well.

The cigarette fell a while ago, and I’m still trying to catch my breath. I should’ve called him. I didn’t think he’d be gone. There wasn’t _one_ possibility in my head where he isn’t here when I come back. I had to leave so fast, so soon. I should’ve told him. But, fuck, how could I? His entire existence is a blessing, I couldn’t do anything to screw that up. He doesn’t need this scrawny, over-pierced, mess of a guy making his life miserable with his sad family stories. Eddie deserves better. I don’t think I ever allowed myself to _feel_ before but I couldn’t even stop when I saw him.

It’s similar to an icy ocean wave I remember getting under sometime as a kid. October is never an ideal time to go to the beach if you live up north. The water is freezing, and your parents are sipping on their cocktails while you splash in the icy water, unaware of its dangers and strength of the tide. And you scream through the stream and splash and try to catch onto anything. But nobody really pays attention, so you wait until the beating stops and cough it all out, struggling to walk and breathe. That’s how it feels like to fall in love. That’s how Eddie makes me feel. And it's more terrifying than the waves.

But I would never associate him with anything bad. Even now, sitting on the steps of the house he no longer lives in, pain shooting through me hard and fast, I cannot find an ounce of myself angry or disappointed. All I feel is longing. Deep, bone-crushing longing for a boy I thought I had, but never will again. And there is no real indication of finality but somehow seeing him every single day for the entirety of the summer makes me question that his family would pick up and leave for no apparent reason. _His dad._ I hope everything is okay. He seemed very sick the last time I saw him, and I _know_ how much Eddie didn’t want me to see the pain he struggled with.

I just want to hold him. Even if I never get to have him as close as I want, I can at least feel him close. I don’t know where he is and whether he’s in pain. I want to be there if something happened to his dad and he needs a friend. I hope he _doesn’t_ need anyone for that. His dad is the best goddamn person on this wretched planet. Surely better than any father _I_ had an experience with. And he knew about us. And never, ever thought that what we had is wrong or disgusting.

_“Richie, can you answer my question?”_

_“Of course, Mr. Kaspbrak.”_

_“Do you love my son?”_

_“I-“_

_“Do you love him like I love my wife?”_

_“I do.”_

He just smiled. A warm exhausted smile, but full of pride and happiness. I wish I had that. Someone like Frank to lean on, to have a support system. If Eddie and I were still together, as if we ever  _were_ together, Frank would’ve felt like a dad in a couple of years. We would’ve been closer, and I would come for any and every holiday meal. Except we’re young, and this probably wouldn’t have lasted anyway, but I refuse to accept there is anyone out there for me but Eddie. I don't know. Maybe this will pass. It doesn't feel like it but maybe it will. I could never allow myself to feel like this again. I think it might just kill me.

* * *

I think losing him is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Not it a _thank God_ sense, but something more of a _pain is essential to work through your mistakes_ kind of way. It takes six straight days of crying into my pillow as soon as it gets dark and a _lot_ of human avoidance to finally admit - I can’t stay stuck like this. I promised myself that as soon as I get rid of Wentworth and Maggie, I’m not going to stay in this hellhole of a state. I’m going to stay true to that. I’m leaving as soon as Chris gets back.

So the day before I hear him pull into the driveway I go around the entirety of the house to collect everything that belongs to me. I leave the total of five photos that my family had, all from my parents' house - they obviously don't need any reminders of me anymore, and they  _definitely_ don't need to have us together in a picture. They don't even deserve to remember how I look like.

I stuff all of my clothes, shoes, and some records in a large duffel bag, and leave it by the door of my bedroom. I find a stash of cigarettes in the garage and pack those as well. I make myself three scrambled eggs, eat them on the roof and fall asleep for an hour or two. It never gets longer than that anymore. 

* * *

“Richie! You awake?”

No. I am not awake. I’m not asleep either. What do you call that state of mind where you wish you were asleep but consciously aware of your surroundings? Is that what lucid dreaming is? Maybe if I learned how to do that, I could dream of Eddie.

I don’t remember his eyes anymore. I don’t remember the feeling of his skin. It should’ve lasted longer. Why can’t I remember?

“Up here!” What is he going to say? He doesn’t know how this feels like. Or maybe he does. Has he ever been in love?

“What are you doing here?” I guess Chris _doesn’t_ approve of my spot on the roof. It might be the cigarettes.

“It’s nice and quiet.”

He crawls in carefully though the window of my room, the large Timberland’s getting stuck on the window sill. “It’s a farm, man. It’s quiet everywhere, all the time.”

“Better here.”

If I take enough drags, I’ll seem thoughtful, and he might leave me alone.

“Have you been up there yet?” I think he nods his head towards Kaspbrak’s farm, but I’m not looking at him, and don’t make a move to do so.

He doesn’t elaborate when I don’t answer, and I let a whole cigarette disappear before I answer. “Up where?”

“The tree.”

 _The tree._ Out of anything he could’ve said, he chose the goddamn tree. Does he even know? Does he _know_ what that tree means to me? I don’t think anyone knows. Not even Eddie. But somehow, amidst me trying to climb up to his kitchen window, or get into any other window or door, I haven’t even thought of getting back to that spot. _The_ spot. And-

“No. I haven’t been up there yet.” Chris gives me a nice stretch of silence to think about it. I don’t even know why I haven’t thought of it.

But maybe it’s because now that I _have,_ I can’t stop picturing Eddie’s eyes - yes, I remember them now. Dark. Glassy. Picture perfect, with the silver moonlight reflected in the dark irises. Leaf shadows dancing over his face. A shy little smile. Puffy strawberry stained lips, pouty and _perfect._ I can feel that recurring ache for him so deep within me that I’m surprised I’m not screaming yet. Adults try to protect you from bruises and scrapes, lung cancer and muggers, but this? This is the shit we should know about. Nothing hurts this fucking bad.

I probably shouldn’t ask him this to avoid getting more hurt, but I can’t. Fucking. Help it. “Did you know?”

Chris doesn’t even ask to elaborate. _Of course,_ he knows exactly what I’m talking about. “No, kid. I didn’t.”

My eyes burn with upcoming tears. I can feel them pushing on my lash line, begging to roll down the cheeks. I won’t let them. Not in front of Chris. So I throw the cigarette off the roof that’s already severely littered, crawl back through the window and hurry downstairs. The sun starts peaking over the horizon - it’s _that_ fucking early. I haven’t been able to sleep since I left that day. _This goddamn tree._

I hate it. Hate how perfect it is. I hate the way the pink-orange glow of the sunrise frames its trunk and the variation of branches. I hate that it smells the same as the day I left - clean and dirty at the same time. I hate that now that I’m standing right on the spot we lied on that night, I can see the part where the grass hasn’t grown back yet from where Eddie’s nails dug into it through the blanket. It _hurts,_ and I don’t know what to do. I can’t stay here. Everything reminds me of him.

* * *

It’s my last day here. I’m not going to waste it and by _that_ I mean I’m finally going to walk through the Kaspbrak farm in its entirety and say goodbye to every spot I knew and loved. The closest is where his strawberry bushes grew. Everything is still green and looks wonderful and clean, just like it always does, but I don’t feel that familiarity anymore. It’s all just kind of…dry earth. Nothing about it is good or welcoming. It’s empty. Devoid of feeling. _Abandoned._

I can’t make it to the house just yet. Can’t face it. So I decide to spend the rest of my day lying under that tree, smoking, and reading yet another Jane Austen novel as if I haven’t gotten through all of them already. It’s all redundant, repetitive, simple. Nothing really works out that way in real life, you know? You meet a guy, rebel a bit, think you know what’s best for you, and when you come back, he’s still there waiting with open arms. Elizabeth Bennet - what were you thinking? You still ended up with the man you dreamt of, even if you denied yourself the goddamn pleasure until almost the end of the book.

What is it with people volunteering to suffer? Is it _not_ possible to just want to be happy? I don’t even understand the purpose of jumping around the truth. Did Eddie jump around it? He certainly didn’t seem to want to make the first move. As if _I_ wanted to. As if _my_ hands weren’t shaking like a virgin at prom when I came by his back door to ask, his dad conveniently slipping back inside as Eddie moved out to the back porch to meet me.

_“What are you doing here?”_

_“Wanna go somewhere?” Damn it. Why is your voice shaking? Pull yourself back together._

_“Where?”_

_“Out of town.” God, he looks so adorable when his eyes get all wide._

_“Where out of town?”_

_“Think I’m gonna kidnap ya, Spaghetti?” And how his nose gets smaller when he makes a forced irritated expression at the nicknames._

_“It’s Eddie, you know.”_

_“I do know, cupcake. I want to take you out.”_

_“I just want to know where we’re going so I know what to wear.” Jesus, can he get any more perfect?_

_“It’s a drive-in movie theater, sweets. So you coming?”_

_“Why, are you gonna go alone if I say no?” Did he just lift an eyebrow on me?_

_“Nah, I don’t want to go anywhere without you.” I tug on the bottom of his pristinely clean white shirt, leaving a dark grey tobacco smudge behind but he doesn’t notice, just blushes that pretty strawberry pink._

_“I, uh…sure.”_

_“Awesome-sauce, angel. I’ll be waiting at the garage. The showing is nine-fifteen.”_

_“At night?” Oh, Eddie._

_“At night.” I wink and make my exit before I decide to carry him bridal style through two farms and up to my bedroom._

Yeah. I guess I’m spending the rest of the day reminiscing every tiny interaction until I either claw my heart straight out of my chest or hang myself on one of the pretty branches of this tree. But that’s not why we got rid of the parents, and not why we left the boy of our dreams to think I abandoned him. We have _lots_ to accomplish. _Who is we?_

I can hear the familiar sound of the crunching gravel, and before I can think or even process my actions, I bolt upright, running barefoot in between the empty bushes, my bare back burning with the active rays of the sun, and my pants seconds from falling down to the ankles. But as soon as I round the corner of the front porch, I’m greeted with a red truck that I have never seen before. This isn’t Frank’s car. It’s not a Kaspbrak car at all. _Hanlon Farms_ says the old sticker on the passenger door of the car. Why does that sound familiar?

“Hey, you work for them?” A dark-skinned man of almost my height steps out of the car in a matching baseball hat, all farm-boy looking: light rolled up jeans, big rubber shoes, a yellow t-shirt with sleeves rolled up as well.

“Work for who?” I have to put a palm to my forehead to see anything through the blazing sunlight.

“Kaspbraks. You work for ‘em?” He walks to get something from the back of the truck, and I follow him, leaning on the side and effectively burning my shoulder. He snorts but doesn’t give an unpleasant comment.

“No, I don’t. Do you?”

“Nah. They have great soil though, and we exchange goods sometimes. Dad sent me to give them some stock.” He pulls out enormous newspaper-rolled packages and heaves them onto the shoulder, sauntering towards the front porch.

“They’re not here, you know.”

He stops right before the steps and slowly turns back. “What do you mean?”

I get in front of the car and lean my back on a much cooler trunk front. “I _mean_ they’re not home. Not on the farm. They’re gone.”

“What do you mean they’re _gone?_ They just got up and left?”

“Seems like it.”

He comes back closer to the car and puts the packages on top of the rusted hood. “Doesn’t sound like Eddie.”

 _Of course,_ my heart nearly jumps out of my fucking chest. How does that even happen? “You’re Mikey, aren’t you?”

I think his face softens but not too noticeably. _Tough dude._ “Yeah. You’re Richie?”

 _What?_ “How do you know my name?”

He smiles now. He probably has the most dashing smile in the world - all dimples and straight white teeth. “How do you think?”

 _Eddie._ “Why would he talk about me?” Why did I say that out loud?

Mike laughs earnestly, throwing his head back. “Why _wouldn’t_ he? A new guy his age moves to the neighboring farm flirts with him and lies half-naked under a tree. You’re like a mysterious book character he dreamed up.”

I can literally _feel_ my cheeks heat up. “Yeah, well. _He_ feels like a character I dreamed up. He’s not here anymore, and I probably won’t see him again.”

“Ah, you will, man. Don’t know where he is but Eddie always comes back.”

“I thought maybe it was something with his dad.”

Mike turns and leans his back on the hood as well. “Nah, Frank’s in remission. He’s good.”

 _Remission?_ “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, Eddie called me as soon as they found out. Never told me they were leaving though. Maybe they decided on an unplanned vacation or something. They deserve it.” There is a warm smile on Mike’s face as he looks towards the house. It makes my heart ache.

This definitely changes everything. I know I should feel relieved. And I _do._ But then what other reason does he have for leaving? His parents certainly didn’t seem like the kind who get up and leave to go on a vacation, their farm uncared for and all of their main belongings still intact. What does all this even _mean?_ Did they move? Oh, God, what if they moved?

“You thinking really loud, man.” Mike bumps into my shoulder, and I almost fall down sideways. _Tank._

“Can’t really wrap my head around the whole Frank thing. And Eddie telling you about me.” Even saying his name makes my stomach turn.

“Yeah, well, if it makes you feel any better, he didn’t want to say anything. First I thought it was a gay thing which would’ve surprised me since I came out to him probably two months after we met, so I didn’t really see a problem. But then he said he wanted to quote on quote ‘keep this to himself,’ and I figured he wasn’t sure you were serious.”

“Wasn’t sure I was serious? He barely talked to me. I had to make all the moves.” Why do I sound so _whiny?_

Of course, he laughs. “Eddie is a shy guy. He needs to get comfortable around people to be himself. He’s actually a pretty tough fella.”

“Fella? What’s next? Going to the ranch and drinkin’ ice tea?”

Mike laughs again, and I think it’s not intended to insult me. _That’s new._ “You’re a funny guy. I see why he likes you.”

“ _Liked._ You mean, _liked.”_

“Hey, you’re gonna see him again. His parents are definitely meant to turn up at some point. The farm’s not for sale, and all the crops are still intact which means they installed the automated sprinklers. You can always ask them then.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

He suddenly steps in front of me with folded arms, effectively blocking the sunlight which allows me to finally see his full face. “No kidding. Where to?”

“San Fransisco.”

“Nice. School?”

“Nah. I never felt like going to school. I’m just going to try to find a job somewhere, as long as it’s far from here.”

“What’s so bad here?” Mike’s tone seems mildly offended, but he looks more curious than irritated.

“Nothing bad, _big fella_. Just my own shit family garbage and a train of memories I’d rather leave behind.”

He sighs deeply and retrieves the packages again. “Well, I hope he gets to see you again. I’ve never heard him talk about a guy before.” Mike gives me one last small smile and a wave after dropping everything back in the trunk and drives off. I stand there until I see him turn onto the main road, feeling the gravel scratch the bottom of my toes.

* * *

God, that airport car ride was a mess. What a waste of time. Two torturous hours of small talk and a whole pack of cigarettes. I know I shouldn’t think about Chris like that, but he’s been really getting on my nerves lately. How come he used to _always_ agree with me about my dirtbag parents but as soon as I came back with all the papers, he said I might’ve made a mistake. What gives?

That decision was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. They don’t deserve to have contact with me or know where I am. I don’t need their money, I don’t need their fake concern, and I _sure as hell_ don’t need their fucking health insurance plan. Fuck that. I guess it’s a bit ridiculous that when I brought up emancipation at sixteen, they were surprised. Dad even smacked me on the back of the head screaming that I-

_“Lost your goddamn mind, boy. All that stolen tobacco gettin’ into your head, rotting your brain cells. You might wanna lay off that unless you want to be left without a college fund. I have more pressing concerns, get your shit in order!”_

Ma just always sat back, knitting and paying no mind to our conversations.

Sometimes, I wish I had more reasons to leave. Like, if ma was an _actual_ alcoholic, not an occasional violent drunk, I could call the cops and have myself removed from that house. Or if dad was _actually_ absent for months, not just for days at a time, leaving us just enough money to buy food to survive. I mean, I didn’t have it that bad. I’ve seen other kids from school have it worse. But that’s still no parenting, you kid me not. I waited too long, probably but at least I had a roof over my head. But still.

They’re the reason I’m such a douchebag. They’re the reason I didn’t even think of leaving a note or a phone number before I bolted, afraid I’m going to be late for that final meeting. And now Eds is gone but at least so are my parents. And I can get my angel back. I hope Mikey was right.

* * *

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Of course, Chris decided to visit out of the blue fucking two years after the last time I saw him. Is this a joke? Because it sure feels like one. The man hasn’t called _once_ since he dropped me off at the airport with a loose hug and now he wants to see how I’m doing. Is he, like, guilt-tripping me into letting him stay at my place because I lived at his farm that summer after high school? I mean, seriously? I don’t even have the _space_ for him, let alone know whether the roomies are going to be okay with this.

And, as expected, it’s pouring. San Fransisco decided to grace me with the beauty of mother nature on this fine mid-August evening, and it’s _hot_ and _wet,_ and this is not helping me process how to even get a car to meet my uncle at the airport in three hours. And there are no cabs in sight. Not a one. I mean, this is a typical Tozier day. I go to work, have my speedy lunch, go back to work then someone texts me three minutes before the end of the shift to come meet them on the other end of the town in twenty minutes. Have you people _been_ to San Francisco? Shit’s impossible.

Just as my tantrum is about to get publicly vocal, I can see a bright yellow nose of a cab peer around the corner, huge black numbers of the car number painted on the hood of the vehicle. The douchebag didn’t even turn the lights on. And because I’m desperate and an utter moron, I jump in front of it, waving my soaked hands wildly. He nearly misses my knees which would’ve _surely_ been destroyed if he didn’t pay attention. Thank _God_ the doors are opened (a smart man would’ve locked them by now). Even the lights inside the car don’t work, it’s _that_ fucking old. And I’m dripping all over his cracked leather seats. Wonderful.

“Hey, I’m very sorry to intrude like this but I really need to get to my apartment as soon as possible, and you’re, like, the only fucking cab in a five-mile distance. Yes, I ran and checked.”

“Listen, you’re drippin’ all over the goddamn floor, and I already have a passenger. This is no New York, boy! Get out!” The cab driver points a sausage finger at the man sitting in the dark corner of the cab, silent and clutching a large backpack to his chest.

“Ah, fuck, man. I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was full. We can drop you off first and-“

Before I get to finish, the passenger opens the door and bolts out. The last thing I see before the door slams are wide, _terrified_ browns framed by a halo of chocolate curls. Was that-

“Eddie!”

I don’t think I ever ran that fucking fast. Fuck my bag and my phone and anything else that I left in that godforsaken vehicle. I dodge a small car almost hitting me on the opposite side, trying to keep the focus on the small figure running in the distance, uphill, _so fucking fast._ How is he that fucking fast?

“Eddie!”

Jesus, I never thought I’d see him again. I can barely fucking breathe. This is insane. There is no way this is actually happening. Like, this shit goes on in the movies all the time, but I have _never_ experienced something like this in real life. And I can’t see for _shit_ because the rain is getting harder by the second and I can barely see his head as Eddie ducks around the corner behind some laundromat and probably keeps running. I reach it several seconds later and see him sprinting through the alley at a distance.

“Eddie! Please! Stop! I-I can’t….”

 _Breathe._ I can’t breathe. That’s him, I know it’s him. I sink to my knees because my lungs are _shit,_ I already ran more in the past two minutes than I have in my entire life. My thighs are burning, and my lungs are on _fire,_ and my heart just broke again. I lost him. And it was definitely him.

FUCK. Fuck. Fuck! How did I not notice him there? I could’ve said so much. _I miss you. I really fucking miss you. I love you. Do you know that I love you? Did I ever tell you? I can’t remember._

Shit. There’s that pain again that I worked on numbing for the past two years. It’s choking, overbearing, _burning._ It’s a filthy fucking alley and an even filthier ground, but I can’t even stand upright. I forgot all my shit. My apartment is a whole hour of walking distance. My uncle is coming soon. But I. Can’t. Move.

I lost him. I lost him again. How? How did I manage to screw up this bad? All I had to do was run faster, scream louder, reach further. What is _wrong_ with me?

I can’t breathe. My eyes burn. I can’t breathe.

* * *

Bill looks terrified. Why does he look terrified? God, why can’t I make out what he’s saying? He’s fussing over me. Am I on the couch? Wait, no, that’s the floor. I think I-

“Richie! Richie!” I’m picking out my name as if underwater, and his face keeps jumping out of focus. What’s even happening right now? “Richie!”

“W-what? What?!” Stop. Just stop. _Eddie._ I saw Eddie. God, I saw Eddie, I-

“Richie, your l-lips are fucking blue. W-where is all your stuff? Why do you look like you fell into the m-muh-mud?”

“Huh?”

“Jesus.” Where is he going?

I can feel my body get heavier now that his arms aren’t there to support it and I fall sideways, letting my head hit the thin carpet. I think Bill hears a thud because he’s at my side within seconds, trying to lift me, a full glass of water in one of his skinny hands.

“Here, you need to drink and then t-tell me what happened.” His eyes are all jumpy and scared. Do I look that bad?

I guess I could have some water. My throat feels horrible and judging by how hoarse my voice is, I screamed a _lot._ But, it still wasn’t enough. Because I-

“I lost him.” After one sip, the voice is much better, and everything is slowly coming into focus. There is very little light in the apartment. Bill must’ve been doing meditation before I came in.

“W-what? Lost who?” He sits down cross-legged in front of me, and I can now see his brown tank top and the yoga shorts.

“Eddie. I lost Eddie.”

Bill just looks utterly baffled. “Rich, that was two y-yuh-years ago.”

I take another sip because I want him to get it through his thick skull that I’m not high, or drunk or _anything._ I just need Eddie. “No, I mean right now. I saw him.”

“You s-saw the Eddie guy?”

“Yeah, I saw him in a cab.”

“O-okay. Where is all your stuff?”

“In a cab.”

“Why did you leave all your s-shit in a cab, Rich? Are you n-nuh-nuts? We’re never gonna get it b-buh-back!”

“Whatever.” I get up because I think I can but I just end up falling on the couch behind me. Why am I so light-headed?  
“W-whatever? Was it your keys, credit cards, ph-phone there? Your ciga-“

“God damn it, Bill, will you let it fucking go? I don’t give a shit! I just lost him, and he was _right_ fucking next to me!” Yeah, I’m getting up now. This is no sitting conversation. Why can’t he understand? It’s really not that difficult.

“Alright, alright. C-cuh-calm down, Richie. J-just worried about you.” He raises his arms in defense and strolls past me to the kitchen, probably to calm me with food or something. Not gonna work, buddy.

“Fuck! I need to pick up Chris. Can I borrow your car?” Shit. If I’d known Bill was home, I’d just call him to pick me up and avoid this goddamn earth-shattering heartbreak that just ruined probably the next year of my life.

“Your uncle Chris? W-what is he doing here?” Bill’s putting a plate into the microwave. The ultimate comfort move. Well, I _am_ starving.

“Decided to visit out of nowhere. Whatever, I’m not gonna tell him to fuck off. I told him I don’t have any extra money if that’s what he’s hoping for.”

“I think you’re confusing him with your p-puh-parents.” Bill smiles and I can tell he’s trying to change the subject. He always disliked me bringing up Eddie, especially since whatever _this_  is started. But we’re not dating, so it’s not like he can tell me what to do.

“Nah, Maggie and Went are loaded. They wouldn’t ask.”

“Yeah, w-wuh-watch your dad spend it all on his secretary and c-come running after your bartending tips.” He’s taking the plate out and reaches it out to me with a fork. It’s Ben’s _Chicken Française_ with mashed potatoes which is only the most delicious thing on the whole fucking planet. Damn, these men know a way to my heart.

“Whatever, Big Bill. Your dad's bar is safe from the wretched Tozier's. They don’t even know where I live.” Of course, it didn’t warm all the way through. Should’ve put it on the pan like Haystack showed me. Which, where is that devil? “What’s Ben doing?”

“He’s on a d-date. He texted me from the bathroom saying it’s g-guh-going very well.” Bill pulls out his flip phone and shows me the excited text from Ben, obviously rushed because the whole sentence is misspelled and it’s _not_ like Ben to not pay attention to that shit. Cute motherfucker.

“Awesome-sauce. It’s about time Benny-boy got some lovin’.”

I stuff the rest of the plate down, now desperately aware of how wet all of my clothes are, and rainwater is _still_ dripping from my hair on the floor. I put the plate in the sink and quickly wipe my mouth with the corner of the shirt because it’s dirty _anyway._ I don’t miss the look Bill gives my underwear-waistband-area. If that’s not that _last_ thing I need right now.

“I’m gonna shower real quick and pick up Chris. What time is it?”

“About n-nuh-nine.”

“Nine?! Oh shit, I really need to run. He lands at nine thirty.”

I’m about to bolt out of the kitchen when Bill catches my arm and swivels me, standing too close to my face. I _really_ don’t need this right now. “I’ll pick him up, d-don’t worry.”

“Bill, you don’t-“

He puts a finger to my lips. I quickly swat it down. Yeah, might be a dick move but I’m as far from fucking headspace as you can be right now. Unless the headspace is green grass and Eddie in overalls.

“I’ll go. You go sh-shower. Gonna take you a while.” He looks offended that I don’t want him touching me, but I quickly smile back, say ‘thanks’ and bolt to the bathroom.

I step straight into the tub, taking my clothes off right there, grey, muddy water dripping off the pants and the back of the t-shirt. Thank God my hair didn’t end up on the ground - that would’ve been an interesting scrubbing session. I leave it all lying under me as I turn on the hottest possible water and listen to the front door close, and my thoughts are instantly on Eddie like clockwork. Distractions only last as long as they're there. Like that saying.  _Running only gets you where you see._  That sharp chest pain is back, worse than I think it’s ever been, and I let heaving sobs take over my entire body.

I lost him. Lost him _again_. And when Bill looked at me, all I could think is _Why isn’t this Eddie? Why can’t he be here?_ I could never understand why I’m so hung up on him. It’s just a summer romance, right? We didn’t make each other any promises, we barely talked about the future. Nothing really mattered back then. And now the only thing I want is to fall asleep to the moonlight reflecting off Eddie’s soft tan skin, his fingers in mine. I _really_ can’t fucking help it. I miss him. I don’t think I can ever love someone like this again.

* * *

Apparently, it doesn’t take a year to get over that little interaction. I don’t know how long it’s actually going to take because it’s already been three years, Haystack is getting married, and I’m supposed to find someone to hook up with at the wedding. Uh, yeah. Big fat fucking chance. Your best man is hopelessly in love with a fantasy and joke's on you because this guy is never gonna fucking get over it.

“So, no, Haystack. Tozier is _not_ up for grabs right now.”

Ben gives me one of those secretive small smiles, and his eyes are shiny with adoration or some wedding excitement. I don’t really know. The man is always happy. I fucking love this guy.

“Rich, you really need to get out there more. Or you should’ve married Bill or something.” He’s fixing his pretty blue bowtie and apparently can’t do it for shit. Well, here comes I.

“Yeah, that ship sailed long ago. Like, about the time you met the man of your dreams.” He pulls on my chin to release the tongue that’s stuck between my teeth, probably afraid of the repetition of that drunk incident when I fell face-first on the barstool and bit off half of my mouth. Yeah. Six stitches. I got a second tongue piercing a month later. Who cares. I mean, I still smile like an idiot.

“I do know. Your imaginary Eddie interaction permanently disembodied your dick.”

“Ben!” I hit him on the shoulder, and he laughs loud, face reddening and literal tears coming out of his eyes. I love when he’s in such a good fucking mood. Note to self: hug the man that makes him this fucking happy tight enough to break bones. “For the last fucking time, man, that _did_ actually happen. You’re both so goddamn mean, it’s absurd.”

I go to pour both of us some scotch. Ben’s ma is the best woman in existence - she flew in a week ago to help her son organize his new apartment, buy all the best food, and introduced us to the fanciest, best fucking scotch in the world. _Balvenie_ really know their stuff. I mean, the rest of the alcohol doesn’t exist for me at all anymore, for the rest of my life. I might as well just stop trying. My salary now goes specifically to this twenty-year-old bottle and nothing else.

I hand Ben a second glass, with just one large cube of ice and we click, smiling like idiots, obviously riding on some high fucking emotions. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy. Ben ruffles the top of my head and pulls my industrial piercing back to look at the right part of my head.

“I still can’t believe you shaved half of your head to get this tattoo. What are these leaves from, are you ever going to tell us?”

“Ah, wouldn’t you like to know?”

“You know you have to keep it shaved for anyone to see you even _have_ a tattoo there?”

“Always a smartass. That was the whole point!”

* * *

I stand on the little podium, shoulder to shoulder with Bill who’s so fucking enamored with the redhead photographer jumping in front of the stage that he doesn’t hear the back doors open loudly as two people rush behind us to get on the other side, supposedly representing the side of Ben’s future hubby. The two men are doubled over in laughter, and it makes me smile like an idiot because that’s similar to how Bill and I looked when we rushed in her several minutes ago, thinking that we missed the entire ceremony flirting with someone’s sisters. Except these two are definitely late, and we’ve been standing here for about twenty minutes now, but the dark-skinned man has those adorable dimples on his cheeks and the oth-

 _Oh. Oh. Oh, no._ I can already feel the ecstatic expression wiped off my face entirely, and there’s that panic attack creeping up my chest again. My knees literally buckle, and I hold onto Bill’s arm to keep myself composed because my best friend is getting married right now, the priest has literally started talking, and I _cannot_ ruin this for him. Stan shoots me a worried glance, and I smile weakly at him, which effectively makes him turn back to his future husband.

Okay. Okay. Yeah, that’s Eddie. Oh, that’s Eddie for _sure._ I swear, it’s as if someone wants me to end myself one of these days. So we just casually run into each other every couple of years which sends me into a depression relapse, and I find myself at the therapist asking _“Hi, why can’t I be in a relationship lasting longer than a month?”_ Oh, maybe because I’ve been in love with one guy since I was eighteen and I can’t stop popping into places where he hangs out, because life is just _fair._

His eyes lock on mine, and that pretty smile instantly drops, and his wide brown eyes are staring right back at me. I can see Mike shaking his shoulder from the corner of my eye, but I can’t break the connection now. He’s right here. In the flesh. He’s so goddamn beautiful. A light grey suit with a baby blue tie. Jesus. He’s absolutely unreal. His hair is longer than I remember, it’s all brown waves, and he has a small stubble. He looks so hot I can feel my body temperature get higher and higher with every second I get to look over him. His cheeks heat up, I can see, because there is a bright blush on them now and his eyes are watery. Please, don’t run. I beg you. I need you.

He doesn’t. I reluctantly break away from looking at Eddie when Ben leans in to kiss Stan, and clap, a tear escaping my eye. I should probably feel bad for not hearing their vows, but I’m going to look at it on tape. Now I have to get myself closer to the bar and further away from _the_ guy. Because I _really_ can’t control my emotions right now. And I _really_ don’t want to embarrass myself by running after him again. He obviously doesn’t want me near him, if three years ago was any indication. As soon as Ben and Stanley start going down the aisle hand in hand, people standing and cheering, I clap Bill on the shoulder and make my way to the side door.

“Hey, I’ll ride alone to the venue, all right? Something came up.”

Before he answers I jump off the podium and walk quickly to the white doors, pushing them open with maybe a little more force than necessary. My hand instantly goes to the pocket inside my own light grey suit jacket, and I light one before I even make it to the car. I roll down the windows as soon as my ass hits the seat and take a couple of deep breaths quickly before backing out and driving to Ben’s favorite restaurant which they’ve rented out for the party. The parking lot is empty besides the catering truck, and I park furthest away from everyone else. I think I smoke halfway through the pack before a first car shows up, parking closer to the entrance - a small white vehicle with an exhaust pipe screaming _look at me, I like to annoy people._ I look in the rearview mirror to see who to make fun of for the rest of the night when I see Eddie get out and start walking straight to my car.

Shit. Oh, shit, no. No. No. No. No. I throw out the half-smoked cigarette and start rolling up the window. But the distance isn’t that far, and as soon as it closes there's a gentle knock, and I’m faced with a light grey vest with a blue tie, neatly tucked in. Eddie’s jacket is open, and he has hands in his pockets, all nonchalant. Except when I roll down the window to look up he bends down with a very unnerved expression and doesn’t smile like I picture in my head.

“Wanna talk?” His voice is like a fucking knife to my heart. I can’t even answer, just nod and open the door to step out into the hot mid-September day. His bounces on his feet and his eyes are darting from the caterers carrying the food to the back, to his car and then the blinking sign of the restaurant. He looks stunning. I can’t take my eyes off him.

“How do you know Stan?” Yeah, apparently I don’t know how to hold a normal human conversation. Because the guy I’ve been pining over for more than five years is standing in front of me, alive and well, and I can’t even tell him that there’s only an ounce of my heart left, and it’s all his.

“We met Senior year in college. How do you know Ben?” His voice is different, I only now notice. It’s still soft, but it’s also a little raspy and much deeper than I remember.

“Met at my bar. Wait, you went to college?”

I can see a small blush on his cheeks. "Uh, yeah. The summer my dad got better." He doesn't say  _the summer you left me_.

"That's uh...I'm proud of you." I know I don't have the right to say that, but I can't help it. That's all I ever wanted for him.

Eddie’s face relaxes a bit, and the corner of his perfect pink mouth jumps. “Did you say  _your_ bar?”

I finally lean against the car, feeling like I can _maybe_ possibly breathe around him. “Yeah. I bought a bar two years ago from my buddy's dad before he passed away. I've worked there for years. It's like home.”

He smiles. Jesus. That fucking smile. “That’s great. Seems like things worked out for you after all.”

Okay, I don’t know what that jab was for, but I definitely need a cigarette, so I pull out a pack. “You mind?”

He’s quiet for a couple of seconds, his face hardening visibly. Eddie’s jaw clenches and I’m not sure what the reaction is for, but I start putting it back in my pocket. _Please, don’t run._

“Can I have one?”

He extends his hand in anticipation, index and middle fingers separate from all others. I can see a small indent on a perfectly manicured middle finger - a smoker’s indent. I swallow and simply nod, letting him take one cigarette out. Without hesitation, I take out Chris’ old metal lighter and put it right under the end of the cigarette dangling from Eddie's mouth, stuck to his plump bottom lip. He looks up at me from under his lashes, and I feel my heart rate speed up so fast, I think I might have a heart attack. He drags and inhales, letting his arm fall to the side as the smoke escapes his lips. The image is kind of making me shift. His face instantly relaxes. He’s been smoking for a while.

I light my own cigarette and search all over his face. He’s not avoiding looking at me anymore. “How long has _this_ been going on?”

Eddie laughs and looks over at a distance again, watching some cars pull in. “About a year.”

“Graduated college and decided _awh, fuck life?”_

He laughs again, not forced or anything. His eyes are warm, but his brows are furrowed as if he’s trying not to cry. “My dad died graduation day.”

Oh, fuck. My heart clenches and a cigarette falls from my hand, on the ground, and rolls away, in the direction of the restaurant. He’s just looking at me with an expression full of pain and longing, and I don’t know what to do with that, so I lean over to hug him. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and hold him tight. He waits several moments but then wraps himself tightly around my middle, painfully squeezing my ribs, nuzzling into the opening of my jacket. I let my face drop straight into his hair, and he still smells the same - summer and earth, and maybe some Axe. He doesn’t live on the farm anymore, after all.

It still makes me cry. I think he cries too but he doesn’t shake and I can’t really feel my shirt dampen. We must stand like that for minutes, me inhaling and kissing the top of his head, him tightly holding me, not making a sound. We finally break apart when we hear someone’s loud car music and I _know_ it’s Bill - that asshole always listens to the worst rap. Eddie’s eyes are red and his lashes are damp with tears which he quickly swats away, smiling shyly. Then we just stand and look at each other as if we’ve never seen one another before. Eddie then buttons his jacket and starts walking towards the entrance, but turns around midway to say: “I love your strawberry leaves tattoo.” And traces a finger over his own hair where my shaved part is. His smile makes my soul ache.

* * *

The whole night is a bit of a blur. I’m more outside than I am inside, especially after I get up to toast the newlyweds and catch Eddie staring at me from across the room, the blue dance floor light reflecting off his freckles, haunting me. I try not to drink too much because I _really_ don’t want to embarrass myself but we don’t talk the rest of the night. It’s painful and torturous but it’s definitely for the best. He never forgave me for what I’ve done, probably even more so after that time we met at a cab. I can’t stop thinking about his terrified eyes and the image of that alleyway, him running and never turning back. It’s daunting and scotch is definitely not helping. I switch to water and try to simply breathe through the evening. I eat the cake and nothing else, and go to smoke right after. I know he’s going to follow me before I see him come stand by me, now with his own pack and lighter, probably from the car. We don’t talk for a full first cigarette and my skin _itches_ to touch him but I won’t let myself do something that stupid.

“I’m sorry about that night.” Eddie looks at me and lights another cigarette.

“Which one?” I know it’s too cocky of an answer, and he might leave, but he just smiles, blushing a bit.

“Not that one. The cab night. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Ran like hell? Nah, Eds, you’re a track champion.” I look at him, and he’s keeping his eyes on my face. I decide to sit because I can already feel my knees weakening - I really can’t control myself around him.

“Well, I _was.”_ He just stands next to me, sideways to the restaurant and looks down with those big swimming browns, looking perfectly lovely, but also sexy as hell.

“Of course you were. I could never catch you.”

“I think you just never tried hard enough.” I lift my head because his voice literally cracks at that. He’s no longer smiling and just looks at me with all the sadness one person can hold. It breaks whatever is left of my heart.

“Angel…” I reach out for him, but he puts his hand behind his back.

“Don’t call me that. You left. You don’t get to say that anymore.”

“Eddie, I came back, and you were gone. I’m sorry, I really am. But I never intended to leave for good. I just thought you’d-“

“Always be there?” He sits down next to me and folds the hands in his lap. God, I want to kiss him.

“Yeah. I know. It’s stupid and selfish. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Yeah.”

We sit in silence for the longest time - not smoking, not talking. We just sit and stare ahead, hoping for some kind of a miracle. I think I want to try one last thing.

“Can I borrow your phone?”

He shakes his head as if waking up from a daze and looks at me blankly. “What for?”

“Don’t trust me, cupcake?” That makes him blush, but he reaches for the inside pocket anyway and hands me the device without another question. I can feel him looking at the side of my face but he doesn’t say anything, and I hand the phone back to him several seconds later.

“Call me if you ever want to. I won’t stop waiting.” I really try to put all the feeling in those two sentences. I hope that translates to enough emotion to get him to understand. _I love you. I want you. Please, don’t run._

Eddie opens the phone and looks at the contacts, staring at my phone number. He puts it back in the pocket, stands up and walks towards the entrance. I look back at him, hoping this is not the last night I see him. He turns back and comes to stand right in front of me. My entire body freezes up as I look up at him. Eddie bends down and kisses my forehead, barely touching his lips to my skin, holding my chin up with one finger. My entire body numbs, and I involuntarily close my eyes. I can feel his hot breath on my face, and my own heartbeat is ringing in hot blood in my ears. But when I open my eyes, he’s gone. I think my heart is too.

* * *

My nightstand is rattling along with the painkillers lying right next to my phone. I groan and lift my head to look at the red numbers of the clock under the TV - 4:07 AM. Fucking hell. Who in the motherfucking end of this Earth is going to want to call me _this_ fucking late? Jesus, this better be good. I reach for my phone and flip it open, pressing it to my ear, and I _hope_ I sound really irritated.

“Hello? You know it’s four in the morning, right? This better not be an ad.”

_“Richie?”_

The upper half of my body instantly lifts off the bed, and I feel fully awake. That voice. I’ll recognize it anywhere.

“Eddie?” What? How?

_“Yeah.”_

“Eds, it’s been four months.” Jesus, will my chest _ever_ stop tightening from thinking about him.

 _“I know.”_ His voice is so heavy. So freaking heavy and sad. God.

“I can’t do this anymore, angel. I really can’t. You don’t even-“

_“I love you. I-I called you to tell you I love you.”_

What the- what? “What? You do?”

_“I really fucking do. I can’t stop thinking about you. You broke my heart, you know.”_

Hearing that from him is the worst pain I’ve ever felt. My chest burns and so do my eyes, but he said he loves me. _Loves me._ “I know. I’m sorry.”

_“I know.”_

There is a stretch of silence, and I can hear him trying to cover the sniffles but miserably failing. “Eddie, are you crying?”

_“No?”_

I don’t know why but his lie makes me laugh. “Baby, you’re sniffling into the phone.”

_“Am NOT.”_

“Is this too early or too late for you? Because I can’t tell if it’s me irritating you, or the time.”

 _“Too early. And both.”_ Jesus, I missed him.

“I miss you.”

_“Me too.”_

“And I love you. More than you know.”

He stays quiet for so long that I don’t know it I imagined the whole conversation. _“You do?”_

“Yeah, Eds. I really fucking do.”

I can hear him smiling. _“Don’t copy me, jerk.”_

“Too late for that, angel.”

_“So what now?”_

“You called, baby, you decide.”

_“Want to grab breakfast?”_

That makes me laugh too loud. “Eddie, I don’t even know where you live.”

_“Don’t you live in San Fran?”_

“Yes? How did you know?”

_“Ben. I’m in San Jose.”_

WHAT. “Let me get this straight. You’ve lived an hour away from me this entire time?”

_“Pretty much. Don’t worry, I found out recently too.”_

“Recently when?”

He pauses for a while. _“Four months ago?”_ Eddie’s voice sounds playful and apologetic at the same time. How is that even possible?

“Wow, Eds. Way to stab a guy in the heart.”

That beautiful fucking laugh. _“So you wanna get breakfast?”_

“I think that’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

_“Right. Want to text me your address?”_

“Wait. No. I change my answer. _That_ is the sexiest thing.”

_“I’ll see you in an hour. I love you.”_

He hangs up, and I lie there thinking that there is no way in hell he’s ever going back to San Jose without me. I love you, and I’m never letting go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really on the fence about the ending, but I'm very happy with the way this turned out. This was never meant to be a smut fic, it's really kind of all emotion, so I'm glad it ended the way it did. Hope you liked! This hurt my heart to write and re-read and honestly, this fic has a special place in my heart. Richie's POV was very fun to write. Anyways, thank you so much for reading!<333


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